


Grinding Rep in the Broken Isles

by drowsyfantasy



Series: Grinding Rep [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Ghost Sex, Humor, Multi, Non-Human Genitalia, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, POV reader, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-02-13 03:18:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12974712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsyfantasy/pseuds/drowsyfantasy
Summary: After realizing you have to earn Exalted with these factions, you figure there just HAS to be an easier way to grind...and then it hits you.





	1. Azsuna

“This place is a _dump_!” you whine, looking around you. Yeah, the Legion has been attacking this area for Light knows how long, but still - it’s definitely seen better days. The architecture had to have been stunning when it was first built ten-thousand years ago (Night Elves and their live-forever-ability, how very wise and magical and also a _pain in the damned ass_ ) but it’s basically crumbling rubble now. A handful of structures remain here and there, but heading down into the aptly-named Ruins of Nar’thalas just made your hair stand on end. You just _knew_ this place was ready to come down around your ears and bury you - and all the spirits left inside - forever.

Speaking of spirits, this place has _really_ warped what your idea of the afterlife looks like. Hell, even Prince Farondis himself was able to save you. In fact, it kind of ate away at you a little when he begged for your help...and then promptly rescued you not ten minutes later, completely on his own. It’s kind of a kick in the pants when an immortal ghost-elf pleads that he can’t do something, then busts out his _amazing fire-mage spells_ and takes down half the Naga army to rescue you.

_Does this guy have a crush on me, or what?_

Hmm. Glancing around doesn’t net you the gaze of any Legion agents, and you’ve recently finished retrieving the Tidestone from the Eye of Azshara, so it’s not like there’s much left for you here to do. Pulling open the enchanted register from your pocket, you examine your little notations. _Ugh_. Ever since your journeys began years ago, you’ve kept this little thing. It tells you what you need, recaps the things you’ve done recently, advises you if someone is looking for you, and generally gives you information about what you ought to be doing right now. The back pages unfold to make a magical map of the surrounding area. Overall, it’s a pretty good thing to carry around.

Right now, though, it’s looking mighty empty.

You’re virtually a stranger in these lands, or you were when you arrived, with all the people of Dalaran (seriously, don’t they get airsick?) and the Legion at your back. The rest of your factions - the Horde and the Alliance - are on the ground too, helping in not just Azsuna, but the other parts of the isles as well. You haven’t been over there yet, so the little meter is empty. The one for the place you are right now, though, shows you at a little more than ‘friendly’. Great. Somebody remarked to you that you’re going to have to max out your meters here too, just like you did in the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor and Outland and Northrend and Pandaria and Draenor and - and fuck it, you’re _so tired of this endless grinding_. Fetch quests. Favours. You’re even tired of killing demons at this point, and that’s basically what you came here to do! With a grunt, you slide the book back into your pocket and rub your hands over your face. There has _got_ to be an easier way to raise your reputation here.

 _Hold up_. With a slow grind spreading across your face, you stand up and pull out your book again. “Where can I find Prince Farondis?” you murmur, unfolding the map and looking for Farondale. _Straight to the source_.

Without the ability to fly on your mounts (being grounded is the least of your worries, but it feels like the most punishing), it takes a little while, but you’re still patting yourself on the back for this burst of inspiration when you land. The ghostly prince is walking idly through the ruins of his palace gardens, buried in a ghostly tome, as translucent yet somehow solid as he is.

“Your Majesty!” he startles, slamming the book shut over his nose with a yelp of surprise and pain. “I was just looking for you!”

“Champion, please, don’t sneak up on me like that…” he’s rubbing his nose, eyes watering, fumbling with his book at his side. He won’t look you in the face - embarrassment maybe? “Can I help you?”

“As a matter of fact, you can.” you roll from your heels to the balls of your feet, back and forth. “I’ve been thinking...I’m not sure if I made my intentions clear when I first arrived in Azsuna.”

“Oh?” he blinks at you, suddenly a little more cautious. His shoulders come up, his ears laying a little flatter against his head, just in case.

“Well, I’m not just a champion. I’m also a woman.” you lean in a little. He blinks his eyes rapidly, but doesn’t move away. “I’m interested in more than doing clean-up duty…a girl’s got needs, Majesty.”

Oh, you read him right. Ghosts can _totally_ blush, because his entire face just went the most adorable shade of pink. He immediately averts his gaze. “W-well, champion, I-I can’t imagine what you mean by-”

“I think you _can_.” you take another step, and another, looking up and up at him. Okay, night elves being tall _is_ kinda hot. Score one for them. “And please, you know my name by now.”

He swallows, then says your name in a hushed tone, lips and tongue barely making it through the word before you’ve tugged him down into a kiss. He’s solid enough to grab part of his robes and press his mouth to yours. Kissing him is a bit like kissing candy floss, like ice cream but less cold. He’s soft and his beard tickles and he hesitates for only a cursory moment before you feel cool fingers in your own clothes, tugging you closer.

 _Score_. You haven’t been laid in _weeks_ with this campaign, and now it looks like you’re about to take care of _two_ problems. Wait, can ghosts get you pregnant? Ehh, you’ll worry about that later. Continuing to kiss him, you don’t bother trying to get any place more private. The only assholes likely to bother you here are Legion demons, and you really don’t give a damn if they happen to see your tits.

Tumbling into the nearby bushes with the ghostly prince in your arms, both of you go about swiftly divesting the other of their clothes. He’s well-built for a mage - strong, broad-chested and shouldered, noble and blushing like a virgin. He’s never mentioned having a queen or children, but _surely_ he managed to bang at least _one_ woman before he got everyone in his kingdom cursed for ten millennia? Not like anyone wanted to fuck this dude _after_ he got everyone time-locked as ghosts.

He’s staring at your breasts while you get rid of the last of his smallclothes (how many layers does a ghost prince need to put on in the morning? Wait, does he sleep and take them off? _How long has he been wearing this outfit?!_ ) and take his cock in hand. It’s cool like the rest of his ghostly body, not warm like a living one, but you’ve had a lot colder (those Death Knights in Northrend _really_ liked it when you melted their Popsicles), and he’s _very_ well-hung. Normally you’d get on top - a champion of Azeroth is _not_ a submissive girl - but ghost physics are still kinda up in the air, and you’d rather not be riding him like a hobby-horse and have him dissipate underneath you by accident. Nothing like getting pointy bushes in places pointy bushes are _never_ supposed to go.

“Come on, Majesty…” you tease, settling back on your cloak (it was a good idea to enchant this thing to be used as a bed in case of emergencies) and tugging him on top of you. He seems to get the idea now, and resumes kissing you, one arm around your neck and shoulders, the other sliding between your legs.

Okay, he’s _definitely_ done this before. Thank the Light you don’t have to teach _another_ virgin how to please a lady.

He’s got you writhing within minutes. Damn, Queen Azshara should’ve kept him for this, not punished him with the rest. His cool fingers against your hot, slippery skin feel incredibly intense, and you know you’ll be coming back for more of this. He pushes you to the edge and then pulls back, and by the third time he’s done it, you just grab his hair and snarl at him, “Either let me come, or stick your dick in me, because if I’m not being fucked in two seconds, I’m going to kill you _all over again_.”

Your wish is his command, apparently, because you’re barely finished your threat before his thick, smooth dick is sliding inside of you. Your head bangs back against a rock. _Fuck_ that’s good. Despite his ghostliness, it’s thick and hard and surprisingly solid, and he lets out the most delicious whimpering moan when you clench down around him. “Ahh…” he gasps your name, eyes shut.

Both of you lay still for a moment to catch your breaths before he starts pumping in and out of you, thrusting hard and deep. His hand plays across your hips and thighs before returning to your clit, working you up again and _finally_ letting you come. As you claw at his back and bite into his cool shoulder, he grunts against your ear and nips it with his short fangs. Okay, maybe you _do_ like Night Elves after all...even if they are pretentious as Hell.

Before you can realize what’s happening, he’s flipped you over onto your hands and knees and is driving into you from behind. _Score two for the little lame prince_ … fuck, that’s good. His hands are a tight grip on your hips as he ploughs into your pussy, and it’s so intense you can feel your eyes crossing. You shut them tight and stars explode behind your eyelids as he has you coming _again_. This is the _best_ way to grind for rep _ever_ , why the Hell hadn’t you thought of this before?!

He leans down over your back, cool against your overheated, sweaty skin, moaning your name in his broken voice. “I’m going to…”

“Stop,” you beg, pushing him back, awkwardly trying to move. He holds back, panting, withdrawing his cock and meeting your gaze as you shift, settling on your knees. You’ll take the risk. He’s cute enough. “I want to see your face when you come for me…”

Aww, that has him blushing all over again. You settle in his lap as he sits, sliding back onto his cock, and rock together. You throw your arms around his shoulders and ride him until he comes, sobbing your name into your ear, and you pull back a little to watch his expression. He looks almost as though he’s in pain as you feel him fill you up, but then it changes to sweet release, his eyebrows up, his lips open and relaxed as his frantic pace and breathing slows to normal. Well, normal for a ghost. And he didn’t vanish from underneath you, so it’s working out well.

He doesn’t open his eyes though, still blushing, and you kiss his eyelids. You can feel him still inside you, cool and softening, slipping out. You’ll be leaking for a while, and walking funny for a bit, but - worth it. _So worth it_. “Your Majesty?”

He opens one eye, cheeky. “I call you by name, do you not wish to use mine?”

“ _Farondis_ ,” you whisper in his ear, and he sucks a sharp intake of breath. His cock twitches against you, like he wants to go again but can’t, not quite yet. “I bet it’s been a long time…”

“It has been,” he murmurs, implying both since he’s heard his name like that, and lain with another person like the both of you did just now. “Say it won’t be the last?” he suddenly looks worried.

You reassure him with little soft kisses. “Of course not. I’ll be sure to come back and visit often...and I’m sure you’ll find other things for us to do…”

A few more kisses before both of you are pulling on your clothes and standing up. Nobody wandered past, but it wasn’t as though the two of you were very quiet, and he still has to do the Walk of Shame back into his palace, whereas _you_ can just mount up and ride off into the sunset like the amazing hero that you are. Still, you watch him go, waving him good-bye, before you saddle up and head for the nearest Flight Master. Sliding your little enchanted book out of your pocket, you flip it open and check your reputation meter. 

_Azsuna: Honored._

You’re grinning from ear to ear as you spot the Illidari camp. _This is going to be the easiest campaign ever_.


	2. Chapter 2

“It is good to see you again,” the blue drake beams at you, welcoming you with a gentle, warm hug. She pulls back and tucks a curl of light-blue hair over her shoulder as she turns. “My grandfather is doing well. See?”

He’s an ancient dragon you saved from dying. Yeah, that’s a pretty impressive feat, right there. First time you saw those creepy withered...things. They remind you a lot of those High Elves that went crazy when they ran out of magic. From afar you pity them, tragic things that they are...but up close, they’re pests, and freakin’ _dangerous._ Nearly killed you, and the rest of the blue dragonflight here.

That being said, you didn’t hide your tears when you watched over Runas until he wandered away into the quiet depths of the cavern for the last time. And when you came out, clutching your new hood over your face, ready to go slay the captains, Khadgar stopped you, put his arm around you, and told you how brave you were.

You didn’t feel very brave at that moment. But you needed to hear it.

You shake off the memory and walk with Stellagosa over to Senegos, who’s still chilling in his pool. A small cloud of whelplings flock to you like seagulls on a beach and nearly knock you over. Half of them decide to perch on you, the other half sort of swirl around you in a whirlwind.

“They like you,” rumbles the ancient dragon, and all you can do is hold very _very_ still and hope their claws don’t rip you apart. No matter what armour you’re wearing, it always seems that tiny claws can _always_ get through.

“I’m flattered,” you reply, moving only your lips. After a moment of giggling, Stellagosa gently waves the small flock off of you, and you do a surreptitious self-inspection for damage. Sensing your distress, the drake puts her hands on your shoulders and steers you towards a grove of trees.

“He likes to play with visitors. Khadgar comes by often to talk, you ought to see what they do to _him_.” she snickers, taking off your outer pieces to help you get all the little dents and scratches out. “Did you know that he’s so ticklish that if you get him enough times, he-”

“Please don’t tell me that the leader of the Kirin Tor has an overactive bladder,” you say, somewhere between awe-struck and dismayed. Stellagosa just grins up at you sheepishly. “Does Senegos make the Archmage pee himself for his own amusement? This is why mortals are wary of dragons.”

“I promise we mean you no harm,” she’s inspecting your gloves as you kick off your boots. There’s some serious marks in your chest piece and after a quick look around, you slip it off over your head, leaving you in just your breeches and underclothes.

Stellagosa keeps looking over at you and you can spot her out of the corner of your eye. “See something you like?”

The tips of her ears go pink. You’ve always liked the way that High Elves and Blood Elves’ ears pull up like that. They’re much more expressive. “You think too highly of yourself, mortal,” her response is quick and clipped, ears twitching. She may be a dragon, but right now, she’s a slave to biology.

“Just because I want to see you on the ground underneath me doesn’t mean I think _lowly_ of you,” you grin at her, one hand on your hip, relaxing as you look her up and down. Her blue eyes flash at you, but her blush only expands over her cute little upturned nose. She hasn’t roasted you like a marshmallow yet, so that’s a good sign. “You must be under a lot of stress lately with the whelplings and your grandfather and the withered. I know we fought off the biggest attack, but they’re still out there. Why don’t you let me take care of that for you?”

“What, the withered?”

“No, your stress.” you roll your eyes. Is she _playing_ dumb at this point? “I’ll bet you’ve never had a mortal like me before.”

“I’ve never had a mortal at all…” she muses, and when you step closer, she doesn’t stop you. If she was really protesting, you’d stop, but it’s _her_ that finally closes the gap and kisses you. It’s _Stellagosa_ who slips her arms around your back and waist and pulls you in. She’s warm and soft and curvy, her elven body lithe like a swimmer’s against your more broad limbs.

Throwing caution to the winds, you kiss her back with every ounce of desire you’ve ever had to fuck something that wasn’t exactly what it appeared. You’ve always been curious - just what _do_ shapeshifters have under their clothes? You won’t be disappointed if she looks like a High Elf, but it _would_ be interesting if there was something else too.

In what feels like a cheap move you’d see in a brothel, you slip out of her arms to your knees and push up her skirts. With one last look to her blushing face, you push the fabric over your head.

_Smooth_.

Okay, now what? She’s still got layers of underthings against her legs, and with an annoyed sigh you start peeling back layers. Tugging the silken fabrics to her knees, you’re finally rewarded with an interesting sight: a rather traditional-looking set of genitalia (at least you know what you’re working with here), but she’s got a rather _interesting_ tattoo, right above her pussy.

You poke your head back up out of her skirts for a moment, face flushed with warmth, grinning up at her.

“ _Really_.”

“Really what?” she asks, breathless, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her hands have migrated to a thick tree trunk behind her, to hold her upright.

“ _This_ ,” you say, cupping her slick folds with your hand as you keep eye contact with her. She whimpers audibly, slippery between your fingertips as you pull back and forth, then slide your thumb up. She blinks. “ _A blue flame tattoo coming out of your cunt_.”

Her blush goes from cute to wildfire, making her face look like an apple. “I-I didn’t plan it! I was talked into it!”

“Oh, I’m sure.” you wink, grinning up at her. “Fine then - who got you soused enough to suggest that a member of the blue dragonflight should get something like this?”

“That’s- _ohh_ ,” she seems to lose track of her thoughts as you slide your hand back down again. Your middle finger accidentally slips inside of her as you push; she’s so slick and open. One of her knees wobbles and you quickly hunker down back under her skirts to make sure she doesn’t fall over. Supporting her legs with your shoulders, you re-position your arm and start giving her a good finger-fucking.

Wet sounds fill the tents of her skirts and you hope she can hear it, because just the sound alone is enough to make you ache between your legs too. Her cunt is hot and sticky and when you lean in closer, it smells pretty damn delicious, too. Musky and a hint of sweetness.

You can hear her moan as you stretch your tongue out to lick her clit. She tastes a little different; the hair stands up on the back of your neck as you start lapping at her pussy above your fingers. It’s something almost electric. Probably the fact that she’s a dragon in disguise is making you feel like you’re consuming magic.

At this point she’s so slippery and jerking back and forth against the tree and your fingers that you have to put her knees over your back and let your mouth make a seal over her clit, sucking and licking to prevent her from completely collapsing. A moment more and you can feel her body squeezing your fingers tightly. “Keep going,” you murmur against her clit, sweating from the effort it takes to hold this position and keep her on the edge of orgasm.

She breaks at that, jerking off the tree and nearly knocking you backwards as her pussy convulses around your fingers, and all you can do is clench your thighs together. _Fuck_ you’re horny, but her drooping, limp body above you isn’t going to be much help with that. Gently, you extricate yourself from under her skirts and help her to sit down. She’s panting still, flushed and staring at your wet face like you’re some kind of miracle.

You wipe your cheek and lick your fingers. She swallows hard.

“So. About that tattoo…”


	3. Val'sharah

You’re going to puke if you have to look at another broken half-submerged temple, so Val’sharah and its lush forests are a welcome change from Azsuna. The smell of good, green earth and flowers ranges from comforting to intoxicating, and if it wasn’t for all the pixies, demonic infestations, and _fucking night-elf druids_ , you’d probably want to retire here.

If there’s one thing you can’t fucking stand, it’s a preachy druid. And you have to save _three_ of them. _This is so much bullshit,_ you remark to yourself as you hack and slash your way through underground burrows, kicking sleeping bears and cats until they wake up. _Their troubles literally come from them being asleep most of the time_. Still, it hurts when you have to face down the screaming, sobbing night sabre druid that you couldn’t save. Xavius’ laughter just seems to keep mocking you. And Malfurion is of little help - even _before_ Ysera is stolen and turned into a monster (the noise she made when she fell from the sky will haunt your dreams for the rest of your life), he just knelt around moping.

And then he fucking _let_ himself get kidnapped.

_Pathetic_.

For a while, it’s exciting to have Tyrande around. She’s take-charge, no-nonsense, and fully devoted to her husband. Honestly, it’s a little touching to hear the way she speaks about him so lovingly. Eventually, though, she proves to be like every other high and mighty leader you’ve ever met - making _you_ do her dirty work.

So after you’ve crawled through Darkheart Thicket and returned with empty hands, she simply turns her nose up at you and insists you venture into the heart of the Emerald Nightmare itself to get her husband freed.

And that’s when you _lose it_.

“I am not taking one more _step_ into those twisted lands, not to save a useless, clumsy, careless, whining old man!” you burst out, hands balled into fists at your side.

Her blue eyes widen and her face goes blank, and you realize that _you are about to die_.

“ _What_ did you say about my beloved!?” her voice is a harsh, terrifying hiss, and you do the only thing you can think of, which is to fall to your hands and knees and cower before her, because dammit, you do _not_ want to be blasted to death by a priest. It’s not high on your list of ‘Designated Ways I Wanna Buy It’, let’s just say. It falls somewhere below ‘ _Ran Out Of Air While Swimming_ ', and ‘ _Misjudged The Height Of A Jump_ ’.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, eyes shut tightly, hoping her glare above you doesn’t turn into smiting. “I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.”

“And you think I haven’t been!?” she snaps at you. “My husband has been kidnapped! My people are beset by monsters! My lands are befouled and my friends are _dying_! Don’t you think there’s a _reason_ I can’t run after him into the dream?”

You open one eye cautiously and tilt your head up. For a minute all you can see is the edge of her dress, but then she wilts a little, sinking to her knees in front of you. Surprised, you sit back on your haunches, blinking at her. “High Priestess?”

“ _Someone_ must stay behind,” she whispers, and this time it’s not from anger; “to stand here, in his stead, to protect what is left of our world, and wait, and _pray_ ,” you can hear the tremor in her voice, the tightness of her throat which by now surely must be causing her tears to burn. “All the while, still knowing that, this time... _he might not come back_.”

_Ohhhhh_. Shit. Well, now you kinda feel stupid. Also, very, very awkward. And very, very sorry.

“My Lady, I...I didn’t mean it.” you reply softly. “I spoke without thinking. I was frustrated. I shouldn’t have said that.”

The only sound for a moment is the rush of water from the flowing fountain. The two of you are alone in the back of the Temple of Elune, where she’d been keeping vigil.

The next thing you know, you’re flat on your back. _Did she shove me over? Is this the end?_ Your eyes widen as she slides into view above you, inches from your face. Instead of anger, though, her luminescent eyes are full of tears. The back of your head stings from where it hit the stone, and, as though sensing this pain, she begins to heal you.

Now, you know that the Light can heal without having to make physical contact. Most standard healers just sort of gather the Light in their hands and gesture at you in order to patch you up. So it comes as a _mighty_ surprise when you feel her warm lips on your forehead. Her kiss soothes your headache, the strains in your muscles; your weariness seems to drop away. And when she trails her kiss down over your eyelids and joins your mouths together, who are you to resist? And why would you want to, anyway?

You might not always hold Night Elves in the highest regard, but Tyrande has always been _breathtakingly_ beautiful. She’s always seemed ethereal, like a goddess herself. She refers to Elune as _mother_ , which has always struck you as something special, rather than pretentious. _Maybe after this stay in the Broken Isles, I’ll be a Night Elf lover after all_ , you think to yourself, as you meet her, kiss for kiss, arching a little up off the ground and putting your arms around her shoulders.

She moves with you, her warm, smooth skin its own comfort against yours. Her hair falls like a silken curtain, spilling over your face and shoulders as you feel her slight weight against your frame, resting on you, her curvy body a welcome embrace. Her hands roam and so do yours, over hips and thighs and the valleys in-between; she seems more occupied with the difference between her violet skin and your own, which is a completely different colour from hers. Even if your skin _was_ purple, it wouldn’t be the same hue as Tyrande. She seems in a world of her own.

Her movements grow more urgent and insistant, and you grip the junction of her ass and inner thigh and hike her up, so that she’s propped up more on your front. She looks down at you with a bit of surprise, like she’s not sure what you meant by this.

_There’ll be time for slow intimacy later_ , you think to yourself, as you slide further down and push her skirts up. She seems to get the hint, though she’s a lot more gentle than some of the other women and men you’ve had sitting on your face in the past.

Your first lick at her bare pussy - of course she’s naked under the dress, _of course she is_ \- makes her shudder and moan, and some vindictive part of you wonders how long it’s been since anyone gave her a good licking like you’re about to. Despite your pleas for mercy previously, you doubt Malfurion was much of a generous lover, especially considering he spent literally tens of thousands of years asleep. _Do Night Elves have vibrators?_

She tastes like summer rain and honeysuckle. You hold her thighs in place as she writhes above you, digging deeper into her pussy with your tongue for her flavour, face wet and nose against her clit, nearly smothering. You can hardly find it in you to care, though, and maybe _this_ is a way you’d like to die. _‘Drowned In Pussy Juices’_ has a nice ring to it. They could put that on  your tombstone.

Quite suddenly she prises herself out from under your hands, and you’re left with cold night air on your wet face for an indignant moment. Glaring up at her to find out what the Hell is going on, you come to find that she’s just switching positions. She returns her delicious cunt to your mouth and you keep eating her out, but slim fingers are working their way over the ties of your trousers, and with a degree of interest you realize she’s going to start returning the favour.

Her hands make short work of your bottoms, getting them down to your knees (fuck, she’s tall) and with them, your underclothes. At first she just plays with you, keeping you open and teasing you with her fingertips, before leaning in and _ohhhh that’s good_. You lose focus for a moment as her slippery, hot mouth closes around your clit, but then she pinches your thigh, as if to say, _Rude!_ and you resume your worship of the High Priestess.

She makes it damned hard to concentrate, though, and she’s fucking _good_ at this. Evidently the years kept in her vigil for Malfurion didn’t prevent her from keeping up practise with whom you’re sure are some very lucky priestesses in her inner court. You can feel two - no, three - fingers working you up, pushing inside you, and you idly wonder why she married a man if she seems so in love with your pussy it’s like she wants to crawl up inside it?

Whatever your legs are doing, it’s not something you can control, and with a whimpering cry completely smothered by her dripping cunt, you come around her hand and mouth, and your orgasm seems to go on and on, intense, and she is _not stopping what the hell can she not see that you’re OHFU-_ that’s something you’ve never felt before. An intense rush, pulsing between your thighs, and kicking with such muscle spasms that you’re sure it would win you a footrace - if you could stand up right now.

You have to turn your head to her inner thigh because you can’t _help_ but bite down, sobbing your pleasure into her hot, trembling flesh as you - yes, _fuck that’s itdon’tstop_ \- gush like a mountain spring around her fingers. The intensity of your orgasm _wrecks_ you, and for a minute, all you can do is lie there, shaking and gasping, unlocking your teeth from her leg. When she doesn’t move or get up, you suddenly remember that she’s earned herself the best climax you can possibly give her, and you renew your sweet pursuits.

When she comes, it’s like the gentle sigh of a woodland breeze, and her thighs tremble around you, pressing against your ears and the sides of your head. She’s making airy, breathy noises and cries, and they’re just as delicious as the juices running down your cheeks and chin.

High Priestess Tyrande crawls off of you and kneels at your side for a moment, not looking at you.

“Do not go alone into the Emerald Nightmare,” she whispers. “I will pray for your safe return, along with my husband’s. Take my blessing, and the Light of Elune with you.”

“I will, My Lady,” you reply, still staring up at her hair. She won’t face you. Instead, she rises slowly and wobbling to her feet, and pads off into the depths of the temple and the dark night’s shadow.

Peeling yourself off the ground - gross, your clothing is pretty soaked - you manage to sneak a quick wash in the fountains and pull on a change of outfit from your bag. Feeling a little guilty for it, you pull out your magical tome and check your reputation gauges.

You are _this close_ to Exalted with the Dreamweavers. With a little smile, you close the book, and shove it back into your pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

“Why are these ghosts so freakin’ mad at me?” you mutter out loud as you clash your way through Black Rook Hold. “Is it because I’m not a Night Elf?”

“What was that?” Jarod Shadowsong pants at you, from where he’s fighting at your back.

“Nothing. Never mind. Hey, I think I see her glaives!”

Both of you charge at them at the same time, banging your heads together and recoiling like a couple of comedians in a play. “Ow!” he rubs his head, then inspects them as you nurse your splitting headache. “Yes, those are hers all right. She can’t be far away!”

“Well, pass them here.” you’ve got more room in your bags than he does, and he’s not really keeping a level head right now. Maiev must mean a lot to her brother. “Lead the way up.”

“It won’t be that easy. They must be keeping her in the jails beneath the Hold.” the silver-haired elf shakes his head and leads both of you up the stairs. “The jailer will have the keys.”

“Jailer. What jailer?”

“ _That_ jailer.” he gestures.

“Oh.”

It’s a twelve-foot tall massive Legion jailer with one of those portable cages on his back. “Fuck, I hate those things.”

“As do I. Chaaaaaaarge!”

Luckily, you both manage to wear it down enough that it keels over and he finishes it off, mopping his brow, leaving you to fish through its pockets-slash-entrails and find the goddamn keys.

It takes you both a few moments more to find your way inside. At the bottom of a long, well-like staircase is the broken body of demon hunter, and you both crouch down.

The Illidari prisoner’s face is ghostly white.

“I...broke free...and ran.” he manages. “I...almost made it…” the glow of his fel-green eyes underneath the blindfold dims. “Please save...my companions…” his breathing is coming in painful, broken gasps.

“Do you have the keys?” Jarod murmurs, not looking up from the dying Night Elf at his feet. When you indicate that you do, he nods. “Good, these keys should open any of the cells within the prison.”

“What about…” you gently reach down and brush a little of the man’s hair out of his mouth. “What’s your name, Illidari?”

“Arduen...Soulblade.” he manages, after a few deep-enough breaths. “Within the prison are three of my...comrades.” he coughs. Blood splatters your boots and knees where you’re crouching in the muck. “We were taken by surprise while scouting the area. I am not long for this world, but please, save them.”

You look up, and you and Jarod make eye contact. The commander’s face is heavy with sorrow. “I will stay to ease this prisoner’s passing. It won’t be long, now. Go ahead and find Maiev.”

Scrambling to your feet, suddenly remembering the urgency of the situation, you hurry off deep into the prison tunnels, hoping to find _anyone_ still alive down here.

The first cell on your left contains a red-headed Illidari facing away from you. As you open the lock and pry the gate upward, he stirrs. “The blood...it burns!”

“Uh...are you…”

“The fel energy...I can’t...control it!”

Ohhh, that’s a bad sign. You draw your weapon as he screams, a nasty, guttural sound and leaps at you, feral and demonic, all teeth and wings and claws. It takes more hits than you’d like but you bring him down, and he collapses on the ground. “The demons control Black Rook Hold. You must...stop them…” he whispers, shaking badly.

“In whose name shall I stop them?” you grab his arm, and he grips your hand as much as he can.

“Sirius...Ebonwing…” he manages. You hold his hand until he can’t feel your grip anymore, and then you turn him to face the west, and then you leave the cell.

You can hear pacing, and with no small amount of joy you recognize the demon hunter pacing inside. “Asha!”

She startles, then rushes to the bars. “It’s you! I remember you from Aszuna! Please, get me out of here!”

“I will, gimme a second!” you get the lock open and back up as she flings the gates up like they’re made of paper. In a sweeping gesture that almost knocks both of you to the ground, she hugs you tightly. “Woah! Uh, good to see you too!”

“Thank you for rescuing me!” she steadies both of you. “I was about to see if I could start tunnelling through the rock with my claws…”

“Yeah, probably not a good thing.” you wince. “Arduen and Sirius...I couldn’t save them.”

She pauses for a moment, watching you. Then she shakes her head and lets out a breath. “I need to make my report. I didn’t see where they took Cassiel. I doubt very much they left Cass alive...but…”

“If I find your friend, I’ll do what I can.” you promise, and Asha darts off down the hallway, back towards the stairs.

At the end of the hallway is a kneeling, crouching figure in a well-lit room. This one is no demon hunter - she’s in what remains of scraps of under-armour cloth and her eyes are too bright to be felfire.

“Maiev. Maiev Shadowsong!” you shove the key in the lock and nearly break it in your haste. She does not move, and, feeling incredibly stupid, you kneel in front of her. Her face is bruised, her lips cracked, and her body covered in scars. She’s clearly lost weight; the joins of her wrists and ankles are very pronounced. Still, her grim determination has made her hang on. “I brought your things.” you empty your bags, and her glaives and armour clatter to the floor.

The first time she moves, you’d swear she hadn’t been tortured for weeks. She’s quick as a flash, grabbing up her things.

“For weeks they tried to break me. Amateurs! I kept my silence. I counted the minutes, measured their steps, and listened to the voices beyond my cell. I have been waiting for my chance to escape, and to strike back at my captors. Now, you bring me my armour _and_ my blade! My salvation will be followed by bloodshed.” she smiles, thin and intense, and you swallow and back up a little.

Her speech, however, is more impressive than her body, and she wobbles as she rises to her feet. “Woah! Warden Shadowsong, you’re in no condition to fight…”

“Unhand me!” she snarls at you, caring little for the fact that you just sprung her from prison. Still, the way she wavers makes you grab at her again, and this time, she accepts your help.

“Here, I have a little left.” you grab a field kit from your bag, and start to patch her up. The combination of bandages, ointment, healing herbs, and magic all help, and within moments, she looks almost as good as new, if still a little thin. She sits propped against the wall, munching on some bread, as you bandage up her feet. There’s no socks for her to wear between her skin and her boots, and she’ll break an ankle if she tries wearing them barefoot. “Better?”

“Better.” she replies, taking another bite.

“I think the words you’re looking for are _thank_ and _you_ ,” you attempt, a little giddy and light-headed from the insanity that’s been happening today.

“ _Go_ and _faster_ ,” Maiev raises silver eyebrows at you as you pause round her mid-shins. “We need to get moving. Gul’dan raised Lord Ravencrest, and his ghostly army, from beyond the grave. Now, they serve the Legion, protecting secrets within the tower. Although Ravencrest commands from above, Lieutenant Desdel Stareye operates the prisons. He tormented me these past few moons, but I did not yield.”

You meet her eyes as she gives you a once-over. “What? Do you not believe that a ghost could torture me? Do you not believe that ghosts can interact with the living?”

“Oh, believe me, I know _very_ well how they can interact with the living.” you reply in a blasé tone of voice. Maiev’s cheeks go red.

“How dare you make fun of me!”

“I’m not making fun of you!” you blink, pulling back a bit. “I, uh, um...I fucked a ghost just last week.”

“You...did what?” it’s her turn to be silenced in surprise.

“Farondis - _Prince_ Farondis, the ghost-ruler of Aszuna, I’m getting a little of that on the side,” you look anywhere but her face. “So yeah, I believe you when you say that ghosts can be pretty physical.”

“You are a very strange champion,” she admits, and you can feel her eyes boring holes into the side of your head, but you refuse to look at her, and eventually she pulls her helmet on and stands, the rest of her armour going on easily.

At that moment, Jarod rushes in, and you stand back as the two of them reconnect, albeit awkwardly. They shoot a few things back and forth in Darnassian before darting off down the hallway, and as usual, it’s up to you to keep up with those long Night Elf legs.

They lose you up the stairs, though, and you’re distracted by a body in the cell across from the top of the staircase.

It’s lying very, very still, in a crumpled heap.

“Oh, no…” a soft whisper, and you crawl into the cell, gently turning the cold lump over.

The Illidari’s body is nearly unrecognizable. He was tortured, then died from the wounds. This must be Cassiel.

“Be at peace,” you whisper, throat burning, as you cover his face with his mask once more, and follow the sounds of clashing swords down the hallway.

It’s Maiev, Jarod, and Stareye. They have appeared to start without you, but you manage to get a few good hits in before killing the ghost. Again. Behind you, more ghosts are stirring, but using the keys from the jailer, you manage to get through an upper escape route, little more than a storm drain, and out into the keep’s gardens.

While Jarod paces, Maiev lets her helmet off and takes deep gulps of the night air. “Hold this,” she passes it to you and begins unbuckling her pieces.

“Sister…?” Jarod turns, then flees a little when he notices she’s not stopping at her armour. “I’ll, uh, be back later! I need to go patrol!”

Maiev chuckles. “Little brothers. Do you have one, champion?” she looks down at you.

“Uh-uh. Only child.” you shrug.

“A pity. They are good for helping you when you need it most, but are too proud to admit it.” she unwraps her feet and wriggles her toes in the long, green grass. “Ahhh, that’s good. It has been weeks since I’ve been outside. Freedom is good.”

“It is indeed, Lady Maiev.” you stretch out too, deciding to take off your boots as well.

She pokes your bare ankle with her toes. “So. You fucked a ghost.”

“Uh…” your cheeks go as pink as her skin. “Yeah.”

“Are you going to do it again?”

“Probably.” you can feel your face heat up even more. “He was good.”

“Night Elves are superior in every way,” she smirks. “Even after death.”

“Oh, come on. That’s just arrogant.” scornful. “You can’t just go around saying things like that.”

“I bet I could have you coming in two minutes.” she holds up her right hand, wiggling two fingers in the air.

_That_ raises your eyebrows. “Oh really? I’ll have you know I’m not _that_ easy…”

“Oh really?” she echoes you, and with a smirk, she’s pinned you to the ground, on top of you already, her silvery hair gleaming in Elune’s light. She looks like an angel. A very wicked angel with a very wicked grin. “I’ll bet _that_ too.”

“Rude,” you reply, and then you’re kissing her, and _you swear to the Light you are_ not _this easy,_ but fuck she’s good. Her nimble hands are up your shirt and long fingers playing with your nipples, tugging and teasing, and the noises you’re making into her mouth just spur her on. She’s shoved a knee between your thighs and you can’t help but grind on her, already wet enough that when her left hand slides out from under your shirt and down under your pants, she smirks and pulls off your mouth.

“Easy,” she proclaims, and pushes _long_ fingers into you, _right_ up into your spot, and you jacknife off the ground. _Am I doomed to fuck Night Elves for all eternity because fuuuuuu_

You’re lucky she’s still there on top of you, because you wouldn’t stay on the ground otherwise. She’s fucking you with too much vigor for that, and all you can do is hold on to her shoulders and bite into your sleeve, whimpering as you near your orgasm. All your stomach muscles clench as she works your body expertly, and your orgasm hits you like a runaway Elek, screaming as you soak your pants and water the lawn with your cum.

Maiev just giggles, a very strange thing to hear, as she lays you back down on the ground, still twitching like somebody’s tapping into your ley lines every few seconds. “I win.”

“ _Do you ever_ ,” you want to say, but it comes out more like “ _Durrrrrzzz…_ ”

“Can I come back from my patrol yet?” a nervous voice calls from behind a statue, and you’re too weak to respond.

“Give us _two more_ minutes,” Maiev calls out, without looking away from you, and grins.

You are so _totally_ fucked.

In a _good_ way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Farondis seems to be popular amongst readers, he's going to pop up a few more times before the story ends. Enjoy!

“Champion!”

Prince Farondis, the ghostly ruler, has the most beautiful and heartbreaking smile you’ve ever seen. Well, maybe you haven’t seen the most powerful one in the cosmos yet, but this has got to be pretty high up on the list. “My Lord,” you reply, smiling and coming up to him. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen him last, out gallivanting around. You’ve found new friends and been through a lot, and you’re only about a third of your way through this island nightmare.

“I have...missed you.” he says, quietly, keenly aware that the two of you are still in a very public area. You’ve come in to turn in your quests for the day and pick up a thank-you gift from the emissary, and caught Farondis while he’s still here, rather than out in the gardens somewhere.

“Yeah, me too. Hey, wanna go for a walk?” you play it casual as you open the pouch the ghost has provided you. Sweet, a nice pile of gold coins and a new set of gloves. They’re not good enough to replace the ones you’ve already got, but they look pretty, and the tag says you can enchant any gloves to look like these ones, now that you’ve got the pattern. Cool.

“Actually, I can’t go very far today.” he sighs, dramatic, and you look up at him, eyebrow quirked. “I have...business to attend to later. Some meetings with my high councils and military leaders.”

“My Lord,” you stare at him a moment, “far be it from me to boss you around, but...you’re their _Prince_. Can’t you authorize your own vacations?”

“A ruler has more duties than you think.” his smile is pained. “I can spare a few minutes, perhaps?”

“Let’s go, then.” you practically grab the half-corporeal spirit by his sleeve and tug him away from the curious on-lookers, already starting to whisper to each other about this strange champion and who does she think she is, pulling the Prince around?

“You are...rather insistent,” he chuckles awkwardly, as both of you round the bend of a garden path. He avoids stepping in a puddle, and when he glances downward you take the opportunity to tug him behind one of the broken walls. “What are you doing?” he wavers, off-balance.

“Getting my ‘few minutes’,” you smirk, leaning back against the crumbling wall of the old structure, hands sliding up his shoulders and framing his face. His beard feels soft against your thumbs. “I was promised, after all.”

“It was more a compromise than a promise…” he murmurs, but he gets the hint, leaning down and seals his lips to yours in a warm, tender kiss.

If you had more than a few minutes you’d take it a lot slower. You get the feeling that this fella wants to lay you down on a bed of roses and _make love_ to you, but right now, you don’t have time for romance.

Romance can wait for Exalted.

Your hands slip under his layers of robes and push them up, fingers finding the laces of his breeches and underclothes and opening them enough to tug his cock out. With a soft groan, he leans back a little to watch you work, long fingers sliding under your pants.

“Come on,” you urge him, turning your back to him and shuffling your bottoms down to your knees.

“Are we really..?” he asks, breathless, and you can feel his cool, ghostly hands tightening on your hips.

“Yes we are, now come on, they’ll come looking for you if you don’t head back soon, and I am _not_ leaving until I’ve been stuffed full of royal dick!” you joke over your shoulder at him, and he blushes but rolls his eyes and smiles, fingers helping to spread you a little wider and see if you’re ready yet.

The thought of Farondis giving you a good, hard, deep-dicking against the crumbling palace walls has already got you worked up (it had you worked up most of the morning imagining it and the griffon ride over here was SUPER awkward), so he doesn’t waste more than a minute before you can feel him pulling your hips up and back. Hands up against the wall, legs spread for balance, and finally what you’ve been waiting for.

He enters you fairly slowly at first, pushing his deceptively-solid cock inside you. This angle feels _so_ much better than before, and by the time he’s fully sheathed in your pussy, your knees are a little wobbly. Once he’s in, though, he starts fucking you quickly, and it’s all you can do not to scream, because holy _shit_ he’s hitting all the right places with his thrusts.

“Fah- rohn- das- ah!” gasping with each thrust, sharply broken up when you’re fully impaled, pleasure so intense it’s amazing you don’t bite your tongue clean off. One particular motion has you scrambling as your thighs quake so hard you can’t keep your legs locked. Luckily his arm is there to catch you, but instead of keeping you upright, he shoves you further forward until you’re completely off-balance, almost fully vertical against the wall, spread out like a common whore.

He whispers your name in your ear, hissing it through his teeth, followed by a litany of curses and how fucking _good_ you feel around his cock, how hot and wet and _tight_ and incredible you are, and you just sort of whimper and swallow and go “uh huh, uh huh,” over and over as his thrusts raise you up on your toes. Your chin is bumping against the broken wall and it’s scraping a little but you don’t even care if that leaves a scrape because _nothing else matters right now_ except his impossibly-hard ghost cock in your pussy. It’s so good that your orgasm is almost disappointing; you come so quickly that it’s practically unfair. As you’re pressed to the wall, drooling with pleasure and quaking through aftershocks, he keeps going.

“I’m going to come…” he whimpers into your ear, and you manage to get one hand off the wall and slide it on top of his on your hip, your fingers sliding over one another’s, lacing together. “I...ah…”

“Come for me,” you whisper back, and he makes the most _delicious_ sound as he thrusts once, twice, then jerks, hips still bumping against yours, but unmistakably in climax, cock pumping inside you, filling you up again. “Good, s’good, that’s so good, come for me, come inside me, Farondis, do it, keep going, don’t stop, feels good…”

Both of you are quivering and shaking against the ruined marble, mostly-dressed and twisted together by limbs and layers of clothing. The intensity of this quickie has left both of you shaken beyond what you’d expected, and he wraps his arms around your middle.

Despite his previous statement of matters to attend to, he rubs his nose in the back of your neck, just below your hairline, “Do you have to go?” he inquires.

“Archmage Khadgar has said there’s an emissary from Highmountain waiting for me when I get back to Dalaran,” you sigh, finally feeling his softening cock slip from your body, the loss of it almost an ache. _Stupid_. He’s a prince, he’s a night elf, and he’s a ghost! This is _not_ going to work long-term. Don’t fall for this guy!

_Ahh, too late._

“I shall be waiting for you upon your return,” he gently turns you, tugging you in for a kiss, and you just melt into him, pants still round your knees, arms over his shoulders and in his long, soft silvery mane of white hair. The both of you are kissing for at least a few minutes, but eventually he pulls back, and helps you re-dress.

“I should go,” you say awkwardly. He tilts his head, a sad smile, and tugs you in for one last kiss. You want it to last forever, but it only lasts a few seconds before you _force_ yourself to pull away and turn around, walking off faster than you want.

You have business to attend to.

 


	6. Highmountain

“So,” you say, as you lay naked on the rug, sweaty, skin turned gold by the light from the hearth, glancing over at the substantially-hairier woman beside you, “now that you’re High Chieftain and Dargrul is out of the way...what are your plans?” 

Mayla Highmountain waves a three-fingered hand idly in the air. The other one is resting behind her head like a pillow, propping her up so she can see you. “Immediately? Do my best to re-establish relations with my people on the mainlands. I understand our nations are aligned with the Horde.” 

“Yeah, but you’re under no obligation to pick a side.” you shake your head. “Not after being isolated here for so long. I mean, it’s always a good idea to bring more peace and honour to a side that a lot of folks look at and see a bunch of rowdy party animals.” 

She snorts. “And another thing - no more  _ cow  _ jokes. If I have to hear  _ one  _ more stupid pun, I’m going to bring down the mountain.” 

You wince. “Unfortunately, High Chieftain, I don’t know if there’s much we can do about that. People like word-play. I’ll admit you tend to get the worst of it, but...I don’t think it’s meant to be mean-spirited.” 

Mayla makes an annoyed noise and rolls over, causing you to squeal with dismay as she half-lands on top of you, her warm thigh over the middle of your back. “Fine, but what are the ridiculous jokes they make about  _ your _ people?” 

“M-mostly that we’re everywhere,” you wheeze a little until she takes her weight off your diaphragm. “Thank you. Like fleas. I guess? I don’t really know. I’ll have to ask someone else.” 

“Hrrm. Let’s go pop into the hot spring.” 

“Now? Like this? My clothes are kind of destroyed…” you glance to the pile near the doorway. Mayla may not have claws or sharp teeth, but it looks like a Harpie destroyed the outfit you wore to the party she threw after you and your companions made it out of Neltharian’s lair. 

“Oh, you hairless races and your modesty. It’s adorable.” she picks up a towel and throws it at you. “Here, wrap this around you if you really feel  _ that  _ self-conscious.” 

“Hey, my body is  _ amazing  _ and I worked hard to get this physique! It’s just...you bite! Hard! And I don’t want everyone to see that!” 

Mayla laughs, rich and relaxed, as she leads you back down a winding path from the large hut you two have taken over, to the springs in the main encampment. Towels off in the late night, only a handful of folks are still wandering around after the party, mainly chatting or on guard duty. 

The hot water feels wonderful on your aching muscles and tender flesh. “Ahhh, that’s good. And besides, we’re not hairless, I have  _ plenty  _ of hair. You just can’t see it on my skin because it’s so fine.” you tug a little at the hair on the back of your arm, shorter than your eyelashes.”

“True. It’s a treat to show your lovers the different colours, though.” Mayla splashes a bit, then stretches, showing off the deep, rich, warm shades of brown, cream, and black in her furs. “When most people only get to see your face and arms.” 

“Hey, we have that too.” you laugh, dipping your head back in the water to get your ears warm again. The night is a little chilly on the mountain. “The look on your face when you saw mine didn’t match at all -” 

“Well, I didn’t  _ think  _ that this was your original colour,” Mayla tugs a strand of your hair as it floats in the water. Her massive hands are surprisingly delicate and deft. “No one but the birds have this shade of red in nature!” 

“But my hair colour is so  _ boring  _ without enchanted dye.” you pout, floating over to her in the hot spring, settling on her lap. You can feel the warm, solid width of her thigh between your own. “It’s not even a rich brown or a shiny blonde. It’s like...pale mud. Old sand.”

“You would make a good spy, then. Easy to blend in when you look so ordinary.” she teases you, her arms moving to your back, hands sliding down your slippery flesh. “But you only  _ look  _ ordinary on the outside. A champion is valued for how they are on the  _ inside _ .” 

“Thanks, every motivational speech ever,” you roll your eyes, and she dunks you in the water with a laugh. You splutter and fight for the surface, glaring at her half-heartedly, wiping your hair out of your face and mouth. “Bleh. Not fair.” 

“Yes fair. I am paying you a compliment. No need to get sassy.” she tugs you back in again, and you settle against her warm breasts, laying your head on her shoulder. Her hands continue to slide up and down your back, below the surface of the water to your hips, and down to your thighs. “I do hope you’ll be staying for a few more days.” 

“I will,” you reply, as you feel her middle digits start to work their way up between the cleft of your ass and spreading your thighs open in her lap. “Mm. I know that Khadgar has said there’s been a letter left for me in his care, but that can wait for a while. If it was urgent, he’d teleport and yank me there. He’s done that before. Rude.” 

“Extremely rude. Has he ever done it while you’re...busy?” she inquires. By this point, the two fingers of her hand are holding you open while the other hand rubs up and down your pussy, and you breathe out into her neck, grumbling in agreement. Mayla laughs again and continues to tease you until you’re whining, and then pushes one of those long, thick fingers into you. 

It’s damned good. Thicker than most dicks you’ve ever had, and more control over how it moves. Tauren fingers are fun to ride, and the hot spring makes it easy to move. Your normally heavy, strongly-built body feels feather-light under the water’s surface, and she nibbles away at your shoulder as you fuck yourself on her hand. The push and pull of her knuckles against your inner walls is  _ so  _ fucking good, you almost want to cry. 

It doesn’t take you long to get close, and her horns give you something to hold on to as you ride her fingers into eye-crossing ecstasy, shuddering and slumping against her in the water, pussy still convulsing around her digit. She chuckles and rubs your back fondly, then stretches out a bit more in the water and slides her other hand between her hips. 

It’s probably the best after-party you’ve ever been to. 

  
  



	7. Stormheim

“I...I give. You win, heroes.”

Your entire group cheers, a mix of brightness and exuberance mixed with tiredness and exhaustion. This was a difficult series of fights, and you nearly lost the hunter for a few moments. Luckily the skilled healer was able to bring her back. Odyn stands, congratulating your group, so proud of you.

One by one, your current helpers gather their loot and disband, leaving the dungeon, and soon enough, it’s just you collecting your new gear and being praised by the enormous mountain of a cheerleader.

“It’s kind of nice,” you say, looking up and up and up at him, as you put your gold into your bag, “to have the final boss of an intense session be _rooting_ for you to win. It’s a nice change. Normally it’s all ‘argggh’ and ‘you’ll never defeat me’ and ‘curse you, heroes’! But somehow, I don’t think we defeated you properly.”

“What ever would make you think that?” Odyn quickly responds, looking nervously around, but your group has already left, and the others have gone, leaving the two of you alone in the massive chamber. “Of course you won.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. You surrendered, that’s not the same thing.” you shake your head knowingly, and his shoulders droop.

“I am sorry for having deceived you, champion. It was wrong of me. In truth, you _did_ do a substantial amount of damage, and, had you kept on fighting, you might eventually have worn me down. But I must admit that it was I who stopped you. I fear that I may be too proud to _fully_ lose to mortals.”

“You cheat!” you grin. “I’m gonna tell _everyone_ that you’re scared to really let us take you on!”

“Shh, shh, no!” he protests, waving his hands in the air. “Please. You wouldn’t do that...would you?”

“Try me, big boy.”

“I could just squash you…” he lifts his foot, trying to be menacing, but you just cross your arms over your chest and shake your head.

“That wouldn’t work. You’d just be further proving how much of a coward you are.”

“I am not!” he rumbles, voice thundurus in the cavernous chamber. “I am Odyn! There are generations who fought to win my honour! In no possible way am I a coward.”

“Well, as it just so happens, I’m feeling generous today.” you put one boot-clad foot up on the treasure chest. “If you do something for me, I won’t go running and telling everyone that you’re afraid to let a few mortals get the better of you.”

He pauses, considering. “If I agree, you will go on your way and leave none the wiser?”

“I promise. Cross my heart.”

“Cross your…” his brow clouds, then he shakes his head and looks down at you. “Very well.

What is your request?”

“Your body here. What’s it like?”

“This?” he looks down at himself. His Titan body is gleaming with shiny metal. “Heavy, mostly solid. Some parts are hollow for easier mobility-”

“No no, that’s not what I meant.” you sigh. “If you have one, it’s probably proportional. Hell, even your fingers are too big.” you eye him up and down. He stares back, his good eye burning. “I know you vibrate. You did that during one of your attacks.”

“Indeed.” he kneels down, picking you up and letting you sit in the palm of his enormous hand. “But for what purpose would you care to remember that?”

“Personal pleasure.” you lean back, your hands spread out for balance near where his fingers start. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You heard me. Sex with a Titan-Keeper, the All-Father? I’m going to go down in history for this.”

“Certainly, as a woman who’s lost her mind.” Odyn chuckles, but obediently lifts his thumb and lets you wrap your legs around it. He leans his chin on his other hand, then a mechanism inside the hollow joint starts whirring to life and _fuck_ that feels good. It’s a little strong, and you can almost feel your teeth chattering in  your head from the vibrations. Cracking your jaw and laying down helps a little, taking the pressure off your stomach muscles, and letting his thumb do the work.

It’s a good thing he’s going through all the layers of your clothing, or it’d be too much, not to mention the friction burn of metal against skin. Your trousers and underwear provide a perfect amount of friction, getting wetter and slicker as you leak a little, chest rising and falling more rapidly, head back against the cool metal of his palm.

“Are you all right down there?” he inquires, his enormous face swimming into view above you. You whimper in response, and he pauses.

“Ahhh, don’t stop…” you turn over, getting a grip round his index finger and pressing your soaking pussy through your clothes against his thumb. It’s warm now, from the vibrations and your juices. “Turn it back on.”

“Very well, but I am concerned it might hurt you…”

“It feels _good_ , silly, now turn it back on!”

He chuckles again, and you feel it in your whole body as he does so, a little sharper this time. With a yelp you’re coming hard and fast, but since he’s not stopping, the waves are so intense that you’re coming again, and again, and again, and your thighs are sore and your pussy is just clenching at nothing and you’re pretty sure your pants are ruined by now but holy _shit_ you don’t care, and -

You wake up to his concerned face above you. When did you flip onto your back again? Looking down, you’re under a blanket on the floor. Wait, it’s not a blanket, just one of your cloaks. “Woah. What happened?”

“I, ah, think I went a little too far,” Odyn apologizes. “You fell unconscious. I did not call for a healer. Should I?”

“Nah, it’s fine…” you sit up, head spinning for a moment as you breathe in. “Whoo. Intense.” digging around in your pack produces some good food and you chow down, feeling better in no time. “Ahh, that’s better.”

You can still feel the slick wetness between your thighs, and yeah, your clothes are pretty much ruined by now. Oh well. “I didn’t break you, did I?”

“I was about to ask you the same question, champion.” he chuckles, sitting down near you. “I am no worse for wear. Are you?”

“Sore. In a good way.” you reassure him, not wanting him to feel bad about this. You did essentially use him as an enormous sex toy. Hopefully he’s not upset about it. “Thank you.”

“Happy to be of service,” he nods, his magma-like beard flow lighting up the chamber. “Will you be on your way soon, or do you require more rest?”

“I think I’m gonna get going as soon as I can convince my legs to work. I could just use my Hearthstone, but I’d still appear in the middle of the Inn like this, and then I’d have to crawl back to my room.” you shake your head. “Gimme maybe, ten more minutes?”

“Of course. No one will bother you here.” he reassures you, his voice more gentle now. A pause. Then, “I trust you will only speak of this event, and not the one which came before it?”

“Oh? All I remember is riding your hand into oblivion. Anything else is gone.” you wink, and his laughter is rich and relieved.

“The woman who conquered a Titan. Perhaps the Valkyr will need to re-write their songs…”

 


	8. Suramar

Political intrigue has always been your thing, but you can honestly say you’ve never helped topple a corrupt government before. Though when Gul’dan showed up at the very end, you weren’t entirely surprised.  _ How many Gul’dans are there, anyway? _

It’s not over yet when you return with the good news. There’s still a lot of clean-up everyone has to do in Suramar, and a fair number of citizens don’t want to work together. They’ve been so accustomed to living their own way of power that they don’t want to give it up. 

Thankfully, though, that’s not your problem. 

What  _ is  _ your problem, though, is that you were supposed to have a meeting with the First Arcanist this morning, and when you knock on her door, there’s noises of a struggle inside. Fearing the worst - she’s only been back at her estate for a few days - you put your shoulder to the door and burst in - 

“What are you doing?” Thalyssra hisses, scrabbling to cover herself in blankets. She’s still in bed, half sitting-up now, her long, silver-white hair flung about her face and shoulders. She looks like a mess.

Arcanist Valtrois is sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets, completely nude, her skin glistening in the early morning light, and you know she can be hostile but she’s glaring at you with the power of a thousand Nightwells, and you’re pretty sure if she could set you on fire with her mind, you’d be ablaze. “You’re a pest, outsider, did you know that?” she snaps at you. 

“I’ve been told.” you lean in the doorway, arms crossed. They’re not going to buy your ‘playing dumb’ act, but you’re going to milk this for all it’s worth. “I heard screaming. That’s why I busted the door in.” 

Both of them go absolutely purple in the face with flush, and you grin. 

“You’re too loud,” Valtrois hisses between her teeth and shoves Thalyssra a little, making the blankets around her slide a little. 

“I can’t help it,” the First Arcanist whispers, and you can hear her only a little across the small chamber. “It’s been so long…” 

“Ladies, ladies, please.” you shut the door (it’s not broken, just warped a little) behind you and stroll across the room to the bed. Both of them are looking up at you with dubious expressions. “I was called to a meeting here with the First Arcanist this morning. Had I known it was a  _ naked  _ meeting, I would’ve come prepared. As it so happens, that’s easily rectified.” you remove your glove with a flourish, wiggling your fingers. “Arcanist Valtrois, I can see the proceedings have already begun. Please, continue.” 

“This isn’t -” 

“But I was given an invitation.” you protest, already down to your inner clothes, leaning over the bed and running your fingertips over Thalyssra’s shimmering skin along her shoulders. She shivers, looking up at you, her mouth open just a little. “If you really want me to wait outside, I’ll wait, but…” you trail off. 

Valtrois makes a face but Thalyssra doesn’t protest in the slightest, so you finish stripping down and climb onto the bed. 

“Have you ever bedded an outsider?” it’s directed at Valtrois, though you’re settling next to Thalyssra, gently easing the blankets off of her, smoothing her hair back. 

“No. I’m thousands of years your senior.” she points out with a roll of her eyes. “There’s nothing you could bring that I haven’t seen or done already.” 

You just smile, and trail your fingertips up the inside of Thalyssra's thigh. She makes a soft noise, like a gasp, and you claim her mouth. Her lips are sweet, soft and warm, just like you’d imagined. She opens herself completely to you, and you have to wonder a bit if she’d wanted this just as much as you did. 

Valtrois seems to be content to sit by herself and stew for a bit, but you don’t let her bad attitude stop you as you continue your exploration of the First Arcanist’s body. Shal’dorei skin is beautifully smooth, now that she’s in the peak of health again. You run your hands up and down her arms before moving to her chest, fingers spreading out to cup a breast, thumb swiping over a nipple. She moans into your mouth and you swallow it, purring with pleasure. 

“Hey!” ahh, there she is. Heat presses against your arm and you open your eyes. Valtrois is on Thalyssra’s other side, her hands on the First Arcanist’s body just like yours. 

“You’re copying me,” you tease her, and she growls at you and steals Thalyssra’s lips back. Instead of letting it go, you lean in, and when you add your lips, Valtrois tries to pull back but Thalyssra just wraps an arm around her and won’t let her. The three of you sink back into the blankets, kissing together, and you’re starting to wonder if this was Thalyssra’s fantasy all along and not yours. 

Hey, whatever works.

Thalyssra’s other hand is trailing up and down your back, keeping you close, exploring your skin. You finally break out of the kiss, rolling over to straddle one of her thighs and kiss your way down her body. Valtrois seems determined to make this a competition, because she’s doing the same, and both of you reach her thighs at the same time, playfully glaring daggers at each other (well, playful on  _ your  _ part) before you both move inward. 

The noises that come out of Thalyssra’s mouth at two women competing to eat her out are absolutely incredible, and it’s hard not to hump against the bed as you see her shaking. One of her hands is in her own hair, the other playing with a nipple as you and Valtrois lap at her pussy. Often, both of your tongues slide against one anothers’. The lean face and bone structure of the Nightborne means you both fit, though Thalyssra brings her legs up and squeezes you together cheek-to-cheek as she nears her rapidly-approaching orgasm, panting sharply and moaning your names, her hands now on both of your heads. “Yes, yes, yes-yes-yes-ahhhh!” she’s sweet and wet and hot, leaking her juices down your chin as you keep going. You can’t exactly pull away with her knees behind both of your heads, and the heat and taste of her makes you dizzy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the scene isn't over. I just wanted to post something before I ran off to work. 
> 
> Also, if I made this into a series - i.e. "Grinding For Rep: Azeroth" would anyone like to see that? Grinding For Rep: For the Horde!, Grinding For Rep: For the Alliance!, Grinding For Rep: Northrend, etc?


	9. Chapter 9

You settle back on your knees, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you watch Thalyssra jerk and tremble as she comes down from her orgasm. Valtrois is still watching you like a hawk. 

“Would you quit glaring at me? Fine. I propose a contest.” 

“Of what?” 

“We go down on each other. If you can make me come first, I’ll leave. But if I can make  _ you  _ come first -” 

“Which you won’t!” 

“-Then I get to  _ stay _ . All right?” 

She considers, then nods. “Yes, because it’s a good way to ensure you leave and don’t come back.” 

“Charming. Tell me, do you have  _ any  _ friends?” 

She bristles but goes silent, and something inside you twinges. You struck a nerve she wasn’t expecting and you’ve clearly hurt her. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, quietly, but she just brushes you off and pushes you down on the bed. It’s an awkward position, since her torso is longer than yours, but you still have plenty of room to work. 

Despite what she said before, you know you’re going to win. She’s already a little aroused from going down on Thalyssra, but the way her pussy reacts to your mouth is incredible. Valtrois keeps stopping to make noises of pleasure, forcing her to stop what she’s doing to you. Even though she’s good, clearly she’s out of practise, and it’s easy for you to concentrate. Within a few minutes she’s so wet that when you move your free hand up, your fingers slide right in and she jerks back, going stiff and pulling away from your hips. She doesn’t move back or tell you to stop though, so you keep going, sucking at her clit and pumping your fingers into her. At this point she’s clearly given up on trying to make you come; all she’s doing is riding her own pleasure and when she comes, it’s wet and loud and messy and Thalyssra slides down to hold her steady. As she quakes through aftershocks, you keep going, licking her with each contraction of her muscles until she’s whimpering audibly and squirming. Finally you pull back again and Thalyssra hauls you up the bed, snuggling both of you in her arms. Valtrois looks resigned but pleased, and both of you look up in time to see the First Arcanist lean over the bed. 

“Hmm?” you start to sit up, but are stopped in  your tracks when she raises her hand, triumphant. 

Thalyssra has lifted an enormous, glittering indigo strap-on from under the bed somewhere. 

“By the stars…” Valtrois is openly staring too, somewhat taken aback. The First Arcanist kneels on the bed below both of you, grinning as she attaches it to her hips and adjusts it to be more comfortable. With a murmured spell and a twist of her hands, the strap-on has mirrored itself, and now has two sparkling dicks attached to it. 

“I have wanted this…” Thalyssra admits, her cheeks burning purple as she gently pushes your side until you help Valtrois get on top of you, facing you, your breasts squishing together a little as she straddles you. 

“You kinky fucker. I knew I liked you,” you chuckle, and Valtrois glares daggers but otherwise remains silent - until Thalyssra pulls her hips back and you put a pillow under yours, and she manages to start sliding both heads of the strap-on dildo set into both of you at the same time. 

Valtrois moans and drops her head, squirming as she’s filled, and you know what she’s going through, because you are, too. You can feel the thick, cool tip of the enchanted dildo parting your slippery pussy lips and sliding inside you, slowly, and it’s only made more intense by the woman whimpering above you. 

Thalyssra pauses to let both of you adjust to the feeling (the toys aren’t small, and even as turned on as you are, you need a little time to get used to being so full) and when Valtrois starts grumbling and pushing her hips back, you feel the dildo slide out, then push back in again.  _ Fuck  _ that feels good, and you find yourself arching up, clenching wetly at nothing as you’re left almost completely empty before she thrusts in again, enchanted toy finding all your sweet spots and rubbing against them maddeningly. 

Valtrois only protests a little as you tug her down for a kiss, but soon enough she’s melting into it, kissing you back with passion and desire as Thalyssra fucks both of you. The Arcanist on top of you has her arms around you, quaking with pleasure, holding on tightly. You kiss all over her neck and throat as she whines in your ear, and manage to get a hand between your two sweaty bodies to play with her clit as you’re both filled over and over. 

Valtrois is the first to come; with a cry, she completely loses it above you, squirming and gasping and trembling so much that her knees give out and she collapses on top of you. Her weight isn’t much, though, and you can hold it as you hold her until -  _ fuck!  _ \- you’re coming too, and holy shit is that intense. 

When you’re both slumped and panting on the bed, Thalyssra gently eases out of both of you and comes up to snuggle, sliding between the two of you. Valtrois attaches herself to the First Arcanist’s side, and you do the same to her other, tugging up the sheet so it’s not sticking to your legs. “That was incredible,” kissing the side of her neck, hand tracing lazy patterns over her stomach and hips. 

“I never dreamed I would be able to experience this again…” Thalyssra breathes softly, as your fingers wander down to her pussy, idly playing with her. “As we withered, our bodies became too weak to do anything like this. Even touching ourselves took too much energy, and I feared I would slip away if I tried.” 

“I’m glad you’re still here. Both of you, all of you,” you glance over at Valtrois, and she doesn’t have it in her to look angry anymore. “I’m happy that I was able to help, and I’m glad you’re looking to re-join your brothers and sisters in Kalimdor.” 

“Actually, probably not.” she murmurs, and you rest your hand on her thigh as the discussion turns to politics. This is what she had called you here to discuss, before the sexiness began. “I would not have expected us to be welcomed back with open arms, but...Lady Whisperwind’s blatant hostility has put me on edge. On the other hand, learning of these...Sin’dorei, these Blood Elves, once addicted to magic, just as we were, recovering...perhaps they may be able to be of more help.” 

“Whatever you choose, First Arcanist, whatever your people decide, I know it will be the best thing to help you heal. But right now, I’m too tired to talk politics. I want to take a nap.” you blow a raspberry into the side of her breast, and she laughs, squirming between the two of you. 

“Oh, of course.” she tucks you under an arm, and you bury your head in her shoulder, and from there, it’s easy to fall asleep. 


	10. Broken Shore

Never before have you seen so much mud.

It’s sucking, squelching, smelly, staining, and _everywhere_. After a few hours visiting the established base on the Broken Shore, you start to wonder if you can ask a nearby priest to just cast levitate on you all day, every day. He, at least, has managed to stay out of the muck, though the strain in his face tells you it’s taking a lot out of him to continue to float above the mess.

You finish trudging up the hill to give your report, and Khadgar happily accepts your news - and the thousands of Nethershards you’ve managed to collect for him.

And then he pauses. And frowns.

And looks off into the sideways distance.

_Uh oh_.

“Archmage?”

“It has been pointed out to me that I can, on occasion, get a bit carried away. This…” he clears his throat, “...might possibly have been one of those times.”

“Khadgar. _Spit it out_.”   
  
“A single Nethershard will suffice for my purposes. I'm certain you can put the rest to good use. Let's not speak of this again.”

The urge to punch this beautiful, charming, friendly and funny middle-aged man in the face is powerful, but you manage to hold back because you don’t want to lose your hand. Instead, you just hold out your bag, and he dutifully puts the sachet of Nethershards back inside, keeping one in his pocket for himself.

“Please don’t be angry with me.”

You sigh, putting your bag back around your shoulder. “Archmage, I’m...I’m not mad at you, all right? I can use the Nethershards; it’s fine. It’s just that...well, this took a lot of hard work and I really thought you needed it.” you raise an eyebrow. “There’s only so many times a boy can cry Warg, you know.”

He shifts on his feet. The spot he’s on is more solid than others, with a rocky outcropping nearby. There’s even what looks like grass by the mage tower and other buildings they’re currently working on repairing. “I do apologize. It wasn’t my intention to send you off on a useless chase. I was...I was merely trying to ensure I had enough material to work with.”

_Fuck_. He’s close to tears, you can tell. The stress of this place is too much, even for someone like him. “Archmage Khadgar, you’ve been working too hard.” you put your hands on his arms, and he looks up at you from where he’s tilted his head at the ground. “You’re going to go crazy if you don’t rest for a while.”

“Champion, I don’t have the time for that…” he protests, but it’s weak, and he lets you tug him away from the noise of construction, away from the bitter arguing between Velen and Maiev, away from the demons gnashing in their cages.

Down by the shore itself, it’s not as protected, but it’s calmer. There’s some crocolisks off in the distance, but if you don’t get too close, they won’t bother you. You let the water wash away the muck off your boots, and Khadgar settles on a rock, head in his hands, elbows on his knees, staring out across the waters of the bay towards the rest of the Broken Isles.

“I’d suggest we go some place nicer,” you gently tease, “but I think you’d just mope there, too. It’s all right. Relax a little. You don’t have to constantly stress yourself about this. Everyone is trying to work together to bring about the Legion’s end from Azeroth. I hear rumours of Prophet Velen promising to take the fight to _them_ , rather than waiting for them to come to us. That sounds exciting.”

“It’s an interesting thought.” he agrees, sitting up a little straighter to look over at you. You’ve taken off most of your outer layers to wash them, and it’s a rare day with some sun, so you’ve set them over the rocks to dry. “A world without them.”

“You don’t think we’d be better off for it?”

“Some days, I think the Legion’s presence here is the only thing keeping the Horde and the Alliance from descending upon each other all over again.” he pauses, then starts removing his overcoat. He has to stand, and you stand with him, helping him out of it and draping it over some rocks. Without that layer, he looks a lot smaller, just in shirt and breeches. You never realized how much bulk his coat and gloves and boots added to him until you see him without them. He looks surprisingly normal. And...old.

“A common enemy, uniting us. I’ll be glad when the Legion is finally gone, but I’m not looking forward to going back to the old ways.” you acknowledge. “It’s not wrong of us to want something to keep us from tearing each other apart, but the fact that it seems to have to be something as enormous and threatening as the Burning Legion is just...depressing.”

He nods, his hair lifting in the breeze. Then he pauses, sitting down. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.” you settle beside him, close. No one is around to hear you, but it still would seem bad to make him say it loudly.

“I’ve been haunted by dreams and visions of late.” he murmurs, and you press a little into his side, slipping an arm around him, and he leans into your sideways embrace. “The Legion. Medivh. Choices I’ve made, I - “ he squeezes his hands into fists, and you put your free hand on top of one of his. He relaxes. “I don’t know if I chose the right thing. I could have become the Guardian. I don’t want to be, for many reasons, not least of which I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. I don’t _want_ that, either…”

“Then you _did_ choose the right thing.”

“Did I? I could have saved Azeroth many times over by now…” he hunches over, face screwed up, and you put your arms around him. Khadgar sinks into you, face in your neck and shoulder, his deep, shuddering breaths as he pulls you tight against him. “It feels like cowardice.”

“It’s not.” you hug him more tightly, your cheek against the top of his head. He’s so warm. Your hand wanders into his hair, stroking gently, comforting. Despite his appearance, Khadgar isn’t all that much older than you are. And he certainly doesn’t _feel_ frail. “You did what you knew was right.”

“Some days...it doesn’t feel that way.” he murmurs, and his breath tickles your skin through the loose linen of your shirt.

You kiss the top of his head, his temples, moving down the line of his cheekbones, and when he raises his head to look at you, you kiss his lips. He doesn’t stop you, just continues to hold you, but when you pull back, he just smiles sadly.

“I’m flattered,” he says, weakly, “but you shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t?” you echo.

“An old man like me-”

“Khadgar, you are _forty_.”

“Well I’m a bit older than that!” he laughs, taken aback.

“Okay, you’re _in_ your forties. This,” you ruffle his silver hair, “is all vanity. The aging curse on you is over, and you could glamour how you look at any time. You _like_ looking like you’re a hundred years old, so you can pretend to be ancient and wise, instead of middle-aged and foolish and human.”

“Don’t knock being human!” he scolds you, but it’s playful, and he tugs you in again and kisses you. Your shared kisses are sweet at first, comforting, before growing deeper, and your hands exploring the Archmage’s broad chest under his shirt make him moan into your mouth. It’s been a long time since he’s been touched like this, clearly.

“Mm. Mmm! If we’re going to continue,” you break free of his tantalizing kisses (the man has skill, even if he’s out of practise,) and tug him to his feet. “We should really go somewhere else. We’re out in the open, here, and the crocolisks are going to eat our clothes if they can’t get to us first.”

With a shimmer, both of you are gone, away, teleported off the shoreline, and deposited in what you can only assume are his private chambers in the Violet Citadel. A glance tells you your clothes are in a heap on the floor with his before he pulls you into his arms and kisses you again, the sudden extra heat of his body against yours a welcome change from the rough, cold breeze off the waters far below you.

Dalaran might be floating in the air, but you’re solidly grounded here, with the Archmage’s hands on you, manhandling, even a bit rough, but still good - so, so good.

“Khadgar…” your eyes fall shut as he kisses down your neck, nibbling lightly on your collarbone, your palms up and down the warm, broad expanse of his back. His mouth continues its exploration of your body, leaving a wet trail from his hot tongue to your breasts, a little squeal of pleasure escaping from your lips as he finds a nipple and sucks gently.

Despite his age and lack of practise, his skills are undeniable, and when you finally come up from your pleasured haze you spot a bed, quickly tugging him into it. He pushes you into the pillows and kisses your mouth over and over, half on top of you, his big hand teasing the inside of your thigh.

Instead of sliding those thick fingers into you (as you’d sort of hoped he would), he comes off with one last kiss to your lips before he descends, nipping the inside of your thigh and burying his face in your pussy. Squirming under his mouth, you slide your hands through his hair, whimpering as his tongue works wetly against your clit. Clearly spell-casting and speeches aren’t the only things his tongue is good at, and he takes one of your legs to push it back a bit, more room for him to tease you.

He pulls back before you can finish, though, and through your frustrated denial you grumble at him, but he merely chuckles and, in a surprising display of tenderness, snuggles you mid-coitus, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his cheek against your breasts. Strange as this seems - maybe he just needs reassurance? - you go with it, petting him gently, fingertips tracing over his upper back.

It doesn’t last long, though, and you can feel the head of his cock nudging against your pussy. He seems content to rut like that, but you need more, and you take him in the palm of your hand (the noise he makes in your ear is _almost_ enough to get you off by itself) and tug him inside. From there, he sets a quick pace, hard and thorough and _thick_ . His cock stretches you open, wide, and you have half a mind to wonder how he hides _this_ in his pants. Maybe _that’s_ why he’s always in such big, loose robes…

He tugs up your legs, arms under your knees, and you obediently wrap them around his lower back as he thrusts, a better and deeper angle like this, seeing stars and nails raking over his shoulders, you’re sure leaving welts. He hisses at the sensation, and you can feel the bed shaking with the force of his thrusts, something hard bumping against the wall. If you could, you’d worry if there was someone next door, but right now all you can do is hold on and try not to die from pleasure.

Your first orgasm is intense, but it’s so quick you almost miss it. He doesn’t stop thrusting, and your pussy clenching around his cock in aftershocks just pushes you higher, and the second one, right on its heels, makes you scream. There’s no pillow or skin to stop the sound, and the mixture of his name and pleasure fills the room and flies right out the open balcony and windows.

You’re lost in a haze of pleasure after that for a while, not sure if you’re coming but _fuck_ it’s good, but eventually you’re drawn out by his whimper in your ear that he’s going to come, he wants to come inside you, can he? Can he, please?

“Come for me, come inside me…” you’ve never asked a lover to pull out before, and you’re not about to start now, not when he clearly wants to so badly. There are all sorts of spells and remedies for anything that might happen, and besides, it’s not like Khadgar would ever hurt you on purpose.

He comes then, hard, filling you up and you can feel his heat and his pulsing cock. He clutches you, clings to you, coming apart inside of you and little soft whimpers in your ear. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close and tightly to you, soothing him with little soft kisses and reassurances, his solid weight a welcome sensation on top of you. He’s not light, but he’s warm and good and right now, he _really_ just wants to snuggle you. Khadgar is an enormous, sleepy teddy bear as he continues to embrace you, though he rolls both of you until he’s not quite so heavy on top of you, and with a whispered word of power, the blankets are on top of you both.

“Stay a little while?” he inquires, his big blue eyes blinking at you with hope.

“As long as you need.” smiling back at him, a rush of affection and caring filling your chest.

You _did_ choose the right thing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads-up that this chapter features Illidan (yay!) but probably not in the way you expect. Warning for non-traditional genitalia. If you were expecting Illidick, sorry to disappoint, but you still might enjoy it. That being said, if you prefer not to read this, we'll be moving on to Argus soon. Cheers!

The demon hunters are restless.

You can usually spot them on guard duty, doing perimeter walks or just generally doing labour duties for the camp. They’re a good sort, and most of them aren’t as mopey as the rumours painted. Oh, some of them are absolutely insufferable - but for the most part, they don’t make you want to gouge your _own_ eyes out.

There’s a few of them still stationed at the camp up in Azsuna, but by and large they’ve come to the Broken Shore to better aide Illidan in his duties and war-planning.

Then again, that might be why they’re so on edge lately.

You catch Asha pacing, her fingertips working her long braid into a rat’s nest of worry. She’s muttering to herself, something under her breath, her flightless wings twitching.

“Asha?”

“Oh.” she looks up, and you can tell she’s trying to smile, but it doesn’t really work. “Sorry, am I bothering you?”

“No, you just look...perturbed. Moreso than usual. Is something wrong?” you put a hand on her arm, and she pauses, then sighs.

“There is. Lord Illidan...I admit we had almost delusionally high hopes when he was resurrected, but now, he’s...it seems the time he’s spent within the Twisting Nether has changed him more than we had thought.” she sits down with you on a rocky outcropping, tucking her legs up underneath her. She’s still surprisingly delicate for a rough-and-tumble demon hunter, and she tugs a blanket out of her bag and wraps it round both of your shoulders.

She’s lovely and it makes you ache a little to see her like this. “What do you mean?”

“He was always driven.” the wind picks up her loose hairs and both of you huddle a little closer under the blanket, keeping as warm as you can. “His devotion to his cause is admirable and part of what keeps us going, but...I think he finally sees an end to everything, and he’s not sure what to do about it.”

“Really? How so?”

“It’s true, if you’ve heard - Lord Illidan plans to take the fight to the Legion’s world, or what’s left of it. He has entrusted this plan to only a few - he doesn’t want anyone to panic. Well, not just yet.” she smiles thinly. “And once the Legion is vanquished forever, we - we don’t really know what will happen to him. To us, I suppose, but mostly to _him_. We might not be able to fully re-integrate into our own families again, but if the Death Knights have proven anything, it’s that our allies have an enormous capacity to forgive, to have you back, even if it takes time.”

“That’s the good news.” nodding, squeezing her shoulder in a friendly way. “But I have a feeling that’s not the end of your story.”

“It’s not. Lord Illidan…” she looks up. The wind ruffles the edges of her blindfold. “I don’t know what will become of him. Somehow, I don’t think he himself will be as tolerated as we are. I doubt Warchief Sylvanas would trust him, and even High King Anduin Wrynn has limits to his forgiveness, priest or no.” she snuggles a bit closer to you under the blanket.

“I don’t know what his capacity to remain neutral might be after this. I know his followers come from both sides,” you acknowledge, “but with a common enemy gone, a lot of people have been wondering - or outright worried - about what the future holds beyond it. Tensions are running high already, packed into such close quarters.”

“Agreed.” Asha continues fiddling with her hair, and you finally slip the braid from her hands and begin to fix it. She calms down a little, letting you tend to her. “I wish he would talk to us like he used to. Confide in us. He seems to want to, then he pulls away.”

“Well, I’m normally good at getting into people’s...inner circles, shall we say.” you point out. She giggles a little at the implication. Asha’s been one that you’ve been able to confide in, yourself. “Do you think I might…”

“If you manage to survive the experience,” she teases, poking your nose, “you _will_ have to write a book about it…”

A few hours later (it’s hard to tell time on this rock when the sky seems to be covered in perpetual storms), a few of you are around a campfire. The Blood Elf mage to your left had pulled out a lyre some time ago and singing quiet, interesting songs in a variety of languages - Common, Orcish, Thalassian. Despite the fact that not everyone will talk to each other, pretty much everyone who’s been fighting in the Broken Isles has learned enough of the other faction’s language to make themselves understood.

Asha passes by behind you, murmuring under her breath that _now is a good time_ and you rise to your feet, keeping your own blanket around your shoulders, and bid the group good-night as you hurry off in the direction she’d just come from.

Nine feet of purple Night Elf is standing at a worn stone table in the hall, poring over maps and plans. One hand keeps going up to rub at his face, his blindfold catching in his claws once in a while.

“Lord Illidan.” you call gently, and he doesn’t respond at first. “Lord Illidan?”

He turns, and despite the blindfold, you can see the bleary, tired expression on his face. “What is it?” he manages, tensing a little. “Are we under attack again?”

“No, unless you count by rain.” amused as you can hear the first starts of it on the roof of the building. “It’s time to rest, Lord Illidan.”

“You don’t have to call me that.” he raises an eyebrow at you, and if he’s amused or perturbed you can’t tell. “Usually, only my Illidari call me that.”

“Well, you’ve got a variety of titles, but that one seemed the most respectful. Unless you want me to haul out the B-word like Lady Maiev.”

“I see your point. Very well.” he walks a few steps away from the mission control table, and regards you in the darkened room. It’s little more than a series of sheltered areas that are constantly being re-built from the Legion’s bombardment, but it’s shelter nonetheless and aside from the two of you, it’s empty. Sheltered from the wind and rain, it’s still cold, and you draw the blanket closer with a shiver. “Call me what you will. Now then. Has someone called for me?”

“Other than me? No. I haven’t been sent to fetch you. Right now, everyone’s asleep if they’re not on guard duty.” you lean back and forth, from foot to foot. “Well...some of your Illidari sent me, actually.”

“Oh?”

“They’re worried about you.”

He scoffs. “Bah. They always worry. They’re still mostly elf, they need rest...let them have it.” he sound kinder, despite his gruff exterior. “I do not know how much of me is not demon. I cannot stop.”

“Oh, that is a load of Elek shit and you _know_ it.”

Illidan seems surprised at your outburst, and watches as you approach, coming right up to him. “You need to rest, just like the rest of us. You need to come to a full stop. They say you haven’t slept in _days._ ”

“I do not need to - “

“Yes, you do! You were sleeping the first couple of nights here, and you were even snoring!”

“I do _not_ \- “ his face purples even more, felfire eyes blazing underneath the cloth.

“And you sleep-talk. One of your Illidari heard you talking about-”

“Enough!” his wings flare, flapping a little, almost raising him off the ground. The gust blows your hair back, and you haul the blanket closed again, tucking your head down to avoid the blast of cold air. “If you want to mock me, do it where I cannot hear you. I’m tired of your prattle. Begone. I have work to do.” he turns his back on you, looking down at the table again.

Glaring, you walk up to his back and poke him in the side. He jerks, arm reflexively reaching out and grabbing yours, hand and talons closing around your wrist. “You try my patience, little Champion. I do not advise that you test me any further.”

“You’re frightened.”

“I am not.”

“You’re frightened about what’s going to happen to you after all this is over.”

“I _am not_!”

“You refuse to sleep so that you won’t have nightmares about it.”

“ _I am not!"_

“I know you are, because I am, too.”

He stops. Where he was taking in a breath, he lets it out with a hiss. “Of course you are. Champion or no, you’re small and soft and mortal.”

“And you’re worried about what will become of you, when the Legion is gone.”

“I will go down fighting.”

“And what if you don’t? What if you survive?”

Sweat beads on his brow. He pulls himself backward, away from your grip. “That is none of yours, or anyone else’s, concern. I will do what I must.”

“No one here wants you dead again, not even Maiev. I bet she’d even admit it if you asked her.”

“What Maiev wishes is not my business, and if she _missed_ me, she certainly doesn’t show it.” he snorts, sounding amused. “She _tolerates_ me, at best, if that, just long enough for this campaign to be over, and then…and then…” his voice trails off, finally admitting to what he continued to refuse only a moment ago.

“And then.” you reach out to him again, and this time he doesn’t remove your hand. Both of you stand in silence for a while.

“I’ve died before, but never like you did.” you offer, tugging him away from the table, into one of the darker corners of the mission hall. It’s more sheltered here, from the rain above and the wind outside, and as you cast up a fire, he settles at its edge, warming himself. “That’s what healers are for. I cling to my body with my spirit, waiting for a resurrection spell to be cast so I can come back. But yours...you were ripped from where you lay, and cast down with the demons. You didn’t deserve-”

“I deserved everything that happened to me, for the choices I made. I killed so many -”

“You saved two worlds-”

“And now I have none.” he looks over at you, regarding you through his blindfold. “This is not my world. I do not belong in it. Whatever is left of that other world, that Out-land, could not hold me, either. And the Nether is a place of endless torment. I do not look forward to my next death, and it could be my last.”

“Stay.” you look up and up at him. “No wait. Sit still.”

“What?”

“My blanket won’t fit us both side by side.” you crawl into his lap before he can protest, and toss the blanket over his wings. He tucks them tightly against his back and arms, and, chuckling, closes the blanket before you both, allowing a little heat from the fire into the cocoon you’ve made.

“You’re like a child next to me.” he murmurs, amused. His arms go around you, cold hand making you yelp a little before they start to warm up from the heat of your skin and the fire.

“Very funny. I’ll have you know I’m old enough to buy my _own_ sweets from the market.”

He laughs, and the sound is good, rich, behind you and above you and all around you. This is the Illidan you wish you’d known, you wish that ten thousand-plus years ago you could’ve seen. Busy, yes, but with humour and passion for something other than and endless pursuit of the end of the world. “Little Champion, are you aiming to _assist_ me the way you did with Khadgar?”

It’s your turn to blush. “That bastard kisses and tells!” you hunker down a little, pulling the blankets over your head. Normally you wouldn’t be ashamed of your sexual prowess - and yeah, you’re still writing your tell-all, but it’s still embarrassing to be called out on it by the guy who’s supposed to be the next chapter.

“I inquired as to why he was suddenly smiling.” Illidan’s chuckle warms you. “He didn’t volunteer the information where all could hear.” Is that a claw you can feel against your cheek? “Soft little Champion, your body couldn’t handle what this power has done to my body.”

“Listen here, you,” you decide to go for broke, still staring straight ahead into the fire, “In the past month, I’ve fucked men, women, Tauren, ghosts, _and_ a Titan. I can handle anything you’ve got under those pants!”

To his credit, he doesn’t laugh again. “I’m not lying!”  you continue. “And yeah, if I came here to try and relax you by seeing what kind of _warglaive_ you’ve got down there, would you really say no?”

He’s silent for a long moment. Finally he chuckles, sighs, and wraps his arms more tightly around you. “If you’ve made it your personal mission to fuck all of Azeroth into peace and prosperity, then it would be foolish of me to try and stop you.” you can feel the heat of his breath as he nuzzles against the fine hairs at the back of your neck. “Very well. If you don’t run screaming at the sight of me, you’re welcome to try it.”

There’s not much room for you to work like this, and by now it’s warm enough to let the blanket go a little, so you turn, and he gives you space to move. His loincloth-like belt is a trick to get undone, and you avoid his privates for a moment as you work on getting his pants off. His legs are furred, hairy like a demon’s, ending in cloven hooves. They look roughed, and for a moment you rest your hand on one, wishing you had some sort of balm for it. What do the Draenei do when their hooves look so rough like this?

He makes a noise, and you look up. He regards you quietly, leaning back against the wall. Your blanket is still covering his back and shoulders, and without his wings, he does look a bit smaller. Illidan is still massive against you, though, as you crawl up and start inspecting between his legs.

“My powers come from the demonic beings I’ve absorbed,” Illidan’s breath quickens as you trace your fingers along the outside of something you did _not_ expect here. “Th-there was a reason I did not use the services of the pleasure halls of the Black Temple…”

“Not only for their personal safety,” you agree, as the tendrils gently take hold of your wrist. “But for your own dignity.”

Illidan Stormrage’s legs part to show what can only be described as an Old Gods-style horror show. Whatever normal Night Elf cock he might have once had is completely gone; in its place is a series of thick, long, curling tendrils and tentacles, topping and surrounding a wet, sweet-smelling pussy. “How many succubi did you take in for this to happen?” you tease gently, smiling as you hook your thumb and tug it open a little. Illidan shudders. “And their bodies are _made_ for pleasure...is yours?”

“I haven’t let...anyone touch me...since I started changing,” his voice rises and falls with his breath as you let his body explore yours as much as you explore his. He shudders and moans as you touch him, pleasured as much by your fingers in his slick cunt as he is by your other hand squeeze-stroking his tendrils, which have grouped together a bit to form a thicker stalk, allowing you greater ease of access. "I'm - it's - it's always wet, always wanting to be filled..."

His clawed hands work on getting you out of your armour and clothing as you continue to tease him, and you work closer until his prehensile privates get the right idea. Longer tentacles hook around your thighs and pull you flesh to fur, and several others begin to spread you open just as you slip your fingers inside him.

Illidan fists his hands to keep from clawing at your back as he wraps his arms tightly around you, grunting into your shoulder. Despite his lack of a traditional cock, it’s still incredible - the sensation of many squirming, writhing tendrils inside you just makes you weak with pleasure, and the fact that you can reduce him to a whimpering wreck when you’re able to get your thumb in there too and close your hand into a fist is bringing you no end of giddiness.

His hips move in time with yours and your hand, both of you fucking each other slowly at first, getting used to the sensation of mutual penetration and pleasure, but within moments it’s a sweaty, dripping, sloppy mess of hair and skin and gasping. He’s hard to kiss with a mouthful of fangs, moreso than any Night Elf you’ve had before, but he manages, and the passion that you’d wondered about is still there, still on fire.

Succubi are made to please and be pleasured, and his tendrils are never satisfied, and between those two sets, he chokes and comes around your fist multiple times before you’re finally coming too. You give and trade orgasms for a while, riding him in different ways, finally pulling off altogether and going down on each other. His tongue is just as wicked between your legs as it is when he speaks, and his tendrils cradle your chin and keep you focused on his throbbing clit. The added bonus of his genuinely-delicious pussy - tasting vaguely of fruit and cream - makes you want to eat him out for hours, but eventually you both roll away, panting and exhausted, before coming back to snuggle under the blanket.

You stoke the fire a little, and he wraps his arms around you again, and maybe you’ll edit this chapter of your book a little more than the others, but it’s a night you’ll never forget.

 


	12. Argus

You may be from Azeroth, but even _you’re_ cringing when Turalyon starts speaking Draenei in that atrocious accent.

It startles you the first time you hear it. A great war hero that you helped rescue, an army you’re about to meet, with Illidan and Khadgar at your sides, and finally winning the approval of Velen. Dear, gentle, passionate Velen, whom you’d have in a _heartbeat_ if you didn’t a few mere weeks ago accidentally end up killing his son. Still, he doesn’t seem to be sorrowfully angry at you anymore (sorrowfully angry - it’s definitely a mood, and not something you’ve just made up) so that’s a plus.

When you break out into smaller groups and teams to start working on taking back the surface world, you elbow one of the Lightforged and you _have_ to ask: “Did nobody try and teach him how to say it right? How long has he been fighting with all of you?”

“Too long to not know how to speak our language.” the Draenei replies dully, adjusting his breastplate. You help him with his legguards. “Many have tried. All have failed. Perhaps he is speaking like this on purpose.”

“Either that or he’s been hit on the head one too many times.” you suggest, and the thick-limbed paladin laughs his head off.

“It might be so! Tell me, little one, can _you_ speak our language?”

“I can try.” you clear your throat and attempt a better version of the traditional greeting, and the Draenei nods at you.

“Better than his. Perhaps it is just that the human mouth is incapable of making the correct sounds.”

“Eh, it’s possible. I can barely speak Orcish, but I’m _awesome_ at Thalassian.”

“Some languages are more in the throat,” he agrees, before the two of you part ways. Speaking of High Elvish…

Arator the Redeemer has refused to make eye contact with you ever since you spotted him on the Vindicaar (the two of you have _quite_ the history when you were questing at his side in Outland…) so now, when you spot him arguing with Alleria about something, you walk straight up to them, grinning from ear to ear.

He spots you too late, goes completely red, and babbles about being needed somewhere else before hurrying off in clanking armour.

“What did you say to him?” Alleria stares at you for a moment, a delicate eyebrow arched.

“Nothing!” you protest, innocent. She puts her hands on her hips and you get a little weak in the knees. “Nothing, I swear! You heard me coming up - I didn’t say anything!”

“He ran off like you lit a fire under him.” Alleria crosses her arms just under her breasts, making them stand out a little more through her leathers, and maybe it’s all the easy sex you’ve been having lately, because you can’t help but stare straight at them. “Hey. My eyes are up here!”

“My apologies.” you do your best to drag your gaze away from the way her breasts move when she breathes, looking up at her face. Her lips are pursed with irritation and amusement, and you relax a little when you see it. “I actually came to see you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s about the High Exarch. There’s a bet going round, you see,” you lean in a little closer, lowering your voice and switching to Thalassian so the nearby Draenei and humans won’t understand, “ _does the High Exarch speak Draenei in bed_?”

Her eyes widen and you’re expecting a slap across the face as she glares at you, but her anger is made adorable by the violent blushing of her cheeks and nose. “How _dare_ you!” she hisses in Thalassian, but she doesn’t make to grab for her weapon and execute you on the deck of the ship, so, yay? “That is _none_ of your business!”

“So far, the pool is up to eight hundred and sixty-five thousand gold.”

“...what are the terms of the bet?”

Less than an hour later, you find yourself hidden under the bed in Alleria’s private chambers, watching her ankles as she pads across the floor, humming to herself, brushing out her hair. You’re not into feet, but if you were…

“My love. Here you are.” You can hear the High Exarch’s voice, and you crane your head to get a better angle. He comes across the room, still in full plate, and embraces her. They kiss for a moment, and a pang of jealousy crosses your stomach for _both_ of them. Would Arator ever forgive you if you managed to bang his parents? _He must never find out_ , you think grimly to yourself, as Alleria begins to disrobe her lover.

The terms of the bet, as have been agreed, are that Alleria (or anyone who might try their hand at seducing the High Exarch) cannot _prompt_ him to say anything in Draenei, but those who _hear_ it - and can _prove_ that they heard it first - will win the pooled money. If multiple people are to hear it at once, the pool will be split between them.

It didn’t take much to get Turalyon to give up an afternoon shift on-duty to be with his lover. Who could blame him? Alleria is incredibly beautiful, and you’ve fucked enough Blood Elves and High Elves to appreciate their...finer points.

“Here I am, my love.” Alleria’s voice is low with lust. Sure, she may be in this for the money, but also because from the angle you can see at, Turalyon is hung like a freakin’ Draenei. His cock is _massive_ and it’s honestly a bit of a surprise to see such a thick piece of meat on a human. That thing is the size of Alleria’s _forearm_. How does it fit in her pussy!?

They climb onto the bed overtop of you, and the weight dips down a little. Thankfully it doesn’t squash you completely, but it’s still uncomfortable, and you have to hold still, lest your squirming give the game away. At this point you can only hear them, not see them, and the low, primal sex noises coming from both of them are getting you so turned on it’s _agony_ that you have to lay perfectly still and can’t touch yourself. _Dammit_.

The little gnomish recording device is working perfectly, but as the minutes go by you start to wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. Turalyon is remarkably quiet for a man of his size - sure, he moans and growls and grunts, but it’s Alleria who’s apparently the talker in bed, encouraging him and...damn, she’s good at dirty talk (is she doing this for your benefit or the recorder’s?) because she’s fucking narrating the whole thing. “I love it when your beard rubs the insides of my thighs,” you can hear her hiss, and his moan is muffled - fuck, he’s been eating her out this whole time, that’s why he’s not talking. _By the gods, I am being punished for something_ , you think to yourself, as you clench your thighs together, feeling the wet fabric pull a little against your clit. It’s not enough - not _nearly_ enough, but it’s a something.

Fuck they’re not holding back. The wet noises of his mouth against her pussy trickle down below the mattress to you, and you cover the lower half of your face to block the noise that might escape at the way that makes you so goddamn needy. You imagine you can hear each lick, when he sucks and pulls back, the smacking noise of his lips coming together as her clit slides wetly out.

It’s Alleria’s crescendo of moans and cries that drives you out from under the bed, and you’re scrambling on your belly and hands just as she comes; you’re in time to see her arch up off the blankets and little rivulets of her cum to leak down his chin and over his chest. He’s as broad as he is long, and not a little hairy. He doesn’t spot you at first, despite the sudden movement, but when he does, he jerks back in alarm.

“What - get out of my rooms!” he barks at you, still on his hands and knees. Alleria, hands still shaking, grabs him by the hair and drags him back to her thighs.

“Never mind her, you’re not done yet.” she hisses, and he whines in his chest as she hikes her knees under his armpits and hoists him up her body.

“But she’s - “

“I told you, don’t look at her. Look at _me_ ,” Alleria growls, undulating her body under his. Turalyon seems torn, glancing up at you warily. You wave, wiggling your fingers in the air playfully, the gnomish recorder in your other hand behind your back. He finally looks back down at his lover, his eyes falling shut with an almost-delicate moan as she wraps her legs around his waist and grinds her wet pussy against his lower belly, just above where his cock is hanging, throbbing and leaking a steady stream of precum.

Turalyon reaches back with a hand and fists his cock, a few deep breaths before removing one of her legs so he can get at the right angle. Finally, slowly, he pushes inside Alleria, and you take a walk behind them to see his massive cock splitting her open. Her pussy lips are dark pink and stretched wide around him. No wonder he took so long eating her out - it’s kind of amazing he doesn’t need a spell to make it fit.

You take the opportunity to bend down and quickly slide the recorder under the bed. You hear it skitter across the planks of the floor, but neither of the writhing couple on the bed seem to notice the soft noise over their lovemaking. Turalyon is kissing up and down the column of Alleria’s throat, passionate and slow. Her head is back in the pillows, her long fingers in his hair, stroking there and clawing at his back and shoulders as his hips thrust into her, hard and deep but still slow, as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt her.

You throw caution to the winds. If you show up with this recording, after all, anyone in on the bet will know it was you, so you might as well start having some fun. “Gotta admit, I’m a little jealous.” you run your hand over Alleria’s shoulder and Turalyon breaks off his thrusts to glare daggers at you.

“My patience is wearing thin,” he pants, still clearly irritated at the notion that he’s having someone watch him. “Do _not_ test me.”

“Why not? What’ll happen?” you scoff, sitting down next to them. The bed’s plenty wide enough for it, and Alleria laughs breathlessly, flinging an arm over to pull you in. “See? I was _invited_ here.”

“Would that I knew all conspiracies against me,” Turalyon grunts, but as he’s about to say something else, Alleria squeezes her legs around his hips again and he moans brokenly, eyes slamming shut, hands falling back to the bedspread, shuddering, head down.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s hot…” you breathe, watching the High Elf manipulate her lover so well. At this point, the bet is the _last_ thing on your mind as you reach out and touch. You brush Turalyon’s bangs out of his face, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are glazed with pleasure, a dazed expression on his face. He opens his mouth and whimpers a little instead of speaks, and you slide two fingers over his lips, pressing down on his tongue. It’s hot and slippery under your fingertips, and you look down at Alleria, pleading silently.

She grins up at you, and begins moving. Within seconds, she has Turalyon on his back on the bed, and you’re still hastily removing your clothes when you spot her starting to ride him like that. You have to stop and force yourself to look away, dumping your things in a pile on the floor.

Alleria’s warm hand pulls you on top of his body, skin to slick skin, her breasts against yours. She kisses you, and the taste is oh so good. Turalyon makes a noise underneath you and you glance over your shoulder as Alleria wraps her arms around you posessively. He’s watching the both of you.

“That’s - that’s my wife,” he protests weakly, but he doesn’t move to stop either of you.

“She’s not here to steal me away, you love-fool,” Alleria chuckles, breathless with desire. “Now hold still and put your mouth to work again.” She helps you move backwards, over his face. “Good boy.”

Oh, is he ever good. His first few licks are tentative, hesitant, but he soon lets go of his reserve, his massive, broad palms coming up to your thighs, holding you in place as you lean forward. Alleria tugs you in by a nipple and kisses you again, hard, as she starts riding him once more. His grip on you tightens and his moans reverberate through your whole body.

It doesn’t take you long to come, and you slide off of his face, leaning against the pillows and watching them, idly playing with yourself. It’s so hot you almost don’t want it to end. You can tell that Turalyon is getting close though, and he gasps and growls through gritted teeth as he comes, what you can see of his cock throbbing as he empties himself inside his lover.

Alleria eases herself off of his hips and comes to lay beside you, smirking in a self-satisfied sort-of way. “Come here, lover,” she croons at him, urging him closer with her fingertips.

Coming up the bed seems like a massive effort for him, but Turalyon makes it, dragging himself across the blankets and nearly collapsing with his head on her chest, still panting hard from his orgasm.

“Intense.” you reach over and stroke his hair and this time he doesn’t seem to mind so much, just opens his eyes and looks at you, bleary. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

“ _Pheta vi acahachi,_ ” Turalyon murmurs in flawless Draenei, and both you and Alleria stare at him, wide-eyed, then drop him like a box of hot rocks as you both scramble under the bed for the recorder. Your heads clonk together and you yelp in pain, but manage to get the gnomish device out.

Your stomach drops. “ _Nooo…_ ” you wail softly, and Alleria rubs her head, looking at you. “It _broke_ when I threw it under the bed!”

“What are you two _doing_ down there?” Turalyon murmurs, sticking his head out over the side and looking down at the pair of naked women on his bedroom floor.

“Nothing!” you toss the useless piece of junk back under the mattress again, and manage to climb back onto the blankets. Alleria sighs, then joins the two of you and settles down, nuzzling to Turalyon’s side. He’s still a bit wary of you, but when you pull the sheets up to your chests and cuddle to his other side, he still puts an arm around you.

_Oh, well. Maybe next time._

 


	13. Epilogue

The last few hours have been a daze for you. The victory you’ve helped win is incredibly bittersweet, leaving you breathless and dizzy as the survivors take a brief moment to try and come to grips with what just happened. 

The Vindicaar is a small home now, full of Draenei and their allies; everyone seems to be at once exhilarated and drained. As you sit down on the stairs, you spot a massive orc carrying her human girlfriend to the canteen, the two of them cuddling together under a heavy fur with their rations. People want to celebrate, but are held back by the reality of their situation. 

You’re all going home. 

It’s dawned on the mixed-race, mixed-faction couples that they won’t be able to stay together for much longer, and some of them you can hear are already planning to stay in the Broken Isles, or even seek employment and lodgings in Dalaran. It does your soul good to imagine them being able to stay together - especially the demon hunters and death knights who’ve found loving partners - but the reality of the situation keeps eating away at you, that they won’t be able to do it for long, what with the enormous sword stuck in your planet. In a year, you might be back on a spaceship, headed away from your home world again...this time, forever. 

Hopefully not, though. 

“I thought I spotted you here.” Grand Artificer Romuul’s voice says from behind you, and you can hear the clatter of his hooves on the metal staircase as he takes a few steps down, then settles beside you. “Little one. I am glad you are here.” 

You lean into him. Like all the relationships you’ve ever had, this one is completely bananas. You cast your mind back to Draenor, what seems like an eternity ago but was really only a few years. Establishing your garrison. Meeting a young engineer and your forceful parting...then, hearing a familiar voice and seeing his face...but it was not him. Alternate dimensions, cock-blocking you out of love. 

Still, this Romuul seemed to take a liking to you easily enough, even if he had nothing to do with those passionate nights underneath the stars in Shadowmoon Valley and huddling for warmth together in the wild snows of Frostfire Ridge. That final day spent together under the branches of the weeping willow, in the pools of visions, joined in body and mind; transcendent. Peace. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” you finally respond, closing your eyes. “I’m not ready to go. Not just yet. Still some more things I’ve gotta do here.” 

The ship seems to be emptying the hallways, people disappearing into quarters and private areas, and you stand up, coming down off the stairs, holding your hands out. “But first, I wanna do some things with you. Is that okay?” 

He smiles, rising to his hooves, joining you on the floor. “It would be my pleasure.” 

The next few hours with Romuul are comforting and reparative. Male Draenei are enormous all over, but tender and kind and generous lovers. It’s probably because of the sexual dimorphism between the two common genders that the big, hulking men are so talkative in bed - asking if you’re all right, asking if this is something you like, offering to turn, to move in whatever ways might be easier for you, to ensure your safety and pleasure come first. After riding him for a while, you end up on your back with his enormous, muscled body covering every inch of you, blocking out the light of the small cabin room, making you feel like you’re beneath the ocean, back in Vash’jir, perhaps, or the Maelstrom, with Romuul’s voice like an Old Gods whisper in your ear of how good you are, how important, how wonderful and perfect. It’s a soothing balm right now, and you let yourself whisper back everything you feel, everything you can sense and taste of him, arms around his neck and shoulders, kissing him until the world stops turning for a little while. 

The first thing you do when you get back to Dalaran - when you have a moment to breathe and think for yourself - is to accost the poor flight master and demand a ride to the Broken Isles. Yes, you could do it on your own, but you’re not thinking straight right now, and you got so used to memorizing where all the flight points were that you can barely see the trees whizzing past you as the griffon lands awkwardly, and you’re tearing past, climbing up the slippery rocks and hills of Azsuna to get to Farondale. 

_ Where is he, where is he, where is he, I have to tell him - tell him -  _

Prince Farondis is gone. 

No one seems to know where he is. They haven’t seen him in a while. One of the advisors talks about how he was trying to release the spirits of his people through making some sort of concoction and the thought of him being beyond your reach  _ forever _ almost makes you vomit on the spot. 

You tear through the gardens, looking for something, anything that could give away where he’s gone or what he’s been doing. You go through every place you can think of, twice, and still nothing. 

You get to the fallen arches where the portal to the southernmost island - the Eye of Azshara - was once, and sink down, sitting on the crumbling white marble stairs, hugging your knees and crying. Is he truly gone? You have loved so many all your life but you have never been  _ in  _ love until now, and now - 

“Champion?” the familiar voice makes your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t noticed the portal opening, but the blue-violet humming swirl of energy behind him closes quickly as you scramble to your feet, silent and tear-stricken. “You’re back!” he exclaims, but anything he might have planned to say after that is cut short by your sob of emotion as you throw yourself on him. His cool, semi-solid shape wraps tight arms around you, shimmering with power and grace. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you - ” the words are spilling out of you, helpless, bubbling like a mountain stream and he crushes you to his chest, his lips against your forehead, murmuring your name and pulling you into a thousand kisses, each more powerful than the next, each of them a promise for the future you’d always dreamed of, each one a blessing as the sun sets over the water and the world turns to gold in the corner of your eye. 

“You’re here to stay with me.” it’s a question and not a question, but you nod your head anyway,  _ yes, yes, you’re here to stay,  _ and it’s forever this time, as long as you live, longer, until all spirits are freed and you and your night elf ghost prince can be one in the Light, and fuck that sounds weird and pretentious and you laugh for no reason other than sheer joy and exhilaration, and he smiles at you like you’ve gone mad, and you pull back, sniffing a few times, taking his hands. 

“Come on. I have so much to tell you.” you urge, tugging him away from the now-empty crumbling structure. 

“Really? What are you going to tell me?” Farondis laughs, amused and grinning, his eyes glowing with inner power and love. 

“Oh, everything. Just...everything.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming with me on this incredible, intense, wild ride. This has been so much fun and although your story is over, at long last, there's still so much more to be told. Mostly in prequel form. Be on the look-out for the upcoming Grinding Rep expansions - Grinding Rep: For the Alliance! Grinding Rep: For the Horde! Grinding Rep in Northrend, Grinding Rep in Outland, and Grinding Rep in Draenor.


End file.
